Love will show the way
by Hagne
Summary: Men. Aliens. In the end all we get to ask ourselves that question. Even you. Even the leader of the Autobots. So, what will your answer be? What are you willing to do for love? OptimusxOc. Warnings inside.
1. 1 - Curious, little and smart

**Disclaimer: Transformers and all its component do not belong to me. The OC, however, is mine.**

**As I mentioned previously in the summary, there will be some scenes of violence and some other stuff that need the rating, like delicate thematic, if you find something too tough or excessive, please let me know.**

**I am open to advice!**

**About my OC, I have to say that my character will develop a bond with many of the Autobot, therefore, at the beginning it might seem that her interest is directed to someone else, but this remains an OPtimusxOc story, however, all the Autobot will have their own role.**

**Thank you guys for the attention! I hope you will enjoy the story!**

* * *

It was believed that melancholy was the peculiarity of the most sensitive souls, the deep sadness of those who looked at the world and accepted its cruelty, the hardness of something that would have always been bigger than themselves, _than her_.

It had always been that way.

And it mattered little that she was so small that she can be locked in a closet, or that those eyes so full of melancholy and sadness belonged to a ten years old little girl, because the shadow that followed her had always been too cumbersome to be ignored or mistaken for her own.

Lucile was small, not stupid.

Her minds, insofar as unripe given the age, was sharp and imaginative.

It could be compared to the one of an artist who saw what no else could see, who heard what could be perceived just with the heart and not with the five senses, and just like those imaginative and abstract minds, she was more sensitive to the outside world than others, more fragile and ready to accept it as it was, even people and their actions.

In them, Lucile could find more shades than in other things, a range of colors to which she was able to give a name and a form, and as much as she loved to observe those shades dye their eyes and face, Lucile had learned to keep a distance from them, because their emotions could _crush her_.

It was human's nature to attack the weakest, to break his mind, but her grandma Lucrecia had always made sure that nothing could cause her damage.

Because Lucile was a premature child.

Even before her birth, it had been clear that the complications resulting from an obvious cardiac deficiency would have compromised her health, and that the chances of dying in childbirth were very high.

The doctors had given her twenty percents to survive, but even then her physical problems would have prevented her and her family to have a normal life.

Yet, if her mother had been willing to give her up, her grandma Lucrecia had refused to support her daughter's selfishness.

Her grandmother had told her that her birth had been incredibly painful and hard, but as soon as she was born, her mother Lucinda had entrusted her in the care of her grandma after recovering the money that Lucrecia had promised to give to her daughter to carry the pregnancy to term without aborting.

And there she was now, bent on the floor to draw the orange sky that Lucile could see every day through the glass door of her room.

She was using watercolors, the wooden floor of her room as canvas and a vibrant orange to stain her cheek whenever Lucile removed with one arm some locks of black hair from her eyes.

She was scattering the color propped on her elbows, a sea of yellow and red that she lightened with her fingertips moistened with water to give movement to the sketch.

The room was filled with shelves full of books, and every flat surface was occupied by jars of colors, but the smell of paint was mitigated by the scent of the wet grass on which her grandmother allowed her to play only for a few hours, and only in her presence.

That day, however, Lucrecia had had to go away for work, and Lucile had had to postpone her trip in her garden until next week, when she would be back.

Yet, she did not complain.

Lucile was used to being alone at home, and her grandma had made sure that she had everything she could need in the house, and particularly in her room.

And about her room, each wall had a different color, as well as the ceiling and the floor that could become her sketchbook.

Everything could become a canvas where Lucile drew what her mind wanted to see, forests, landscapes, what in her conditions she could only read in books, and that day she wanted to walk in the sky and bring in her room the forest that encircled the back of the house.

Tallahassee was a pretty little city, maybe a little too mouthy, but neither she nor Lucrecia had never cared much what people said, although of things to talk about there would have been a lot, especially about _her._

After all, hers was a non-traditional family, and although people could find objectionable the absence of a male figure or her lack of sociability with the children of her age, Lucile was fine as she was.

Plus, her peers could be really cruel, as well as their mothers could be extremely dramatic and unkind.

They called her grandmother the wicked witch, but in her, rather than malice, there was only sadness.

So much sadness.

Lucrecia Dumas, her grandma, had had a hard life.

She had begun to work in the fields after leaving the Spanish community in search of fortune.

It had not been easy for a woman to get her own space in a male-dominated society, but with work and patience, her grandmother had brought the first plot of land that would have been the basis on which build her trade in fruit and vegetables.

She had won everything, in the end.

A nice house, a comfortable life, everything a person could wish for, but not what she had really wanted.

Her mother had never been an example of morality, but over time, Lucinda had become a selfish and greedy woman from whom her grandma had looked away with dismay and shame.

A shallow person she was, an unnatural mother towards which she felt nothing but bitterness. And it was hard to believe that a child so small as her could feel so much, yet, so it was, and Lucile saw nothing wrong in her way of being.

Therefore, while the world outside was whispering evilly behind her shoulders, she covered the black of their wicked words with the vibrant color of her soul.

She was just giving the last touch of orange when something strange happened.

When the water bathed her knees, Lucile was fast enough to get back on her feet with the jar of yellow that she had had time to grab now close to her chest, her eyes on the sky that had been ripped by the thunder that had shaken the glasses and had caused the fall of the basin of water.

The picture was now ruined, but Lucile kept on staring out the window in search of black clouds.

Minutes passed in silence, her gaze that slowly descended, down and down, until her eyes were filled with the green of the forest that for a moment she had seen tremble.

She waited patiently to hear another thunder, or the sound of rain, approaching the glass-door of her room step after step, hesitant of what to do.

Go out or call for help?

The right thing to do would have been to barricade herself in the house and wait for the return of her grandma, but Lucile was a very curious little child, and although she was used to follow the rules blindly, for once she decided to follow her heart rather than her head.

The hiss of the door seemed to warn her about the dangerousness of her actions while the cold wind made her shiver, her hands anchored to the handle.

_What to do_?

Lucile could only repeat the same question over and over again in her little head before taking finally a decision.

The first step was easy to move, and even the second required a little effort, but when her fingers were about to let go, Lucile hesitated a moment longer before the rustle of bushes rekindled the curiosity in her eyes.

And while she sped throught the forest as one of the heroines of her books, just a few feet from her, what Lucile had mistaken for a lightning reactivated himself with a restless and dangerous hiss.

* * *

**Who could it be?**

**A she or a he?**

**Friend or foe?**

**Go ahead with the hypothesis!**


	2. 2 - Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty

_Awful._

No other adjective could describe better the situation in which he was.

Wounded. Lost. And dirty, so _damn_ dirty to make him cringe, and all for that bastard of Starscream.

The curses that Sunstreaker chewed between clenched teeth would make blush even that longshoreman of Ironhide, not that he was famous among the Autobots to be a social animal, quite the opposite.

If there was one thing for which he was known and despised by many of his fellow was his lack of morality.

More than once it had been pointed out as his cold personality and his cynical view of the world made him more like a Decepticons than an Autobot, an opinion widespread that he had never wanted to soften.

He was that way.

Ruthless. Narcissist. And selfish.

_He was Sunstreaker_, and he could not see anything wrong with that.

Take it or leave.

That was his motto, and although many had preferred to get rid of him even before try to look for something different, less hard to swallow, to him it was enough that his brother would accept him as he was.

_Only him_.

Sunstreaker didn't need anything else.

Them against the world. It had always been that way.

Sideswipe was everything he needed.

In fact it was the thought of finding his twin rather than the call of their leader to convince him to reach Earth, the fact of how he got there was however what annoyed him most.

He certainly had not expected a warm welcome from a world in which he had immediately notice far too much water, and he _hated_ water, but he was not even prepared for what awaited him once entered the Earth's atmosphere.

Even before the questionable taste in the choice of his own armor Sunstreaker had recognized _the voice_.

That scratchy and annoying voice with which Starscream had clashed against his armor after intercepting him in the air.

The idiot had caught him by surprise, and not because his sensor were obsolete, but because that intergalactic scum had attacked him from behind.

That coward had not given him the time to fight back.

Starscream had struck him without giving him respite, taking advantage of the fact that they were in the air, not Sunstreaker's element.

He wasn't a bloody seeker, and unlike the Decepticons he could not rebel against the force of gravity.

All that he could do was parry the blows and, in the meantime, continue to fall without being able in any way to decide the directions in which crashing miserably.

Of course if he had been able to choose where to smash his shiny aft it would have been in the snow, soft and smooth snow able to smoothing his landing and most importantly, unable to scratch his bodywork.

_Obviously_ he had not been so lucky.

Instead of a soft carpet Sunstreaker had made the acquaintance with a blanket of leaves and twigs that rather than dampen the impact had worsened his condition and chipped the painting.

_Awful._

It was the Earth.

And Starscream.

And his life, at the moment.

Nothing had gone the right way since he had decided to answer the call, well with the exception of the only successful hit that allowed him to break free from his attacker and that would have made Starscream whimper for quite a while.

It was not all garbage, okay, but his condition didn't change.

He was seriously wounded, with ten percent of motor autonomy and no chance to defend himself.

Put simply. _He was screwed_.

A pang of pain made him grumble when Sunstreaker tried to roll on the side, a stupid idea having regard of his squeaky joints, but the fact of being at the mercy of any enemy made him uneasy.

He hated feeling vulnerable.

Anyone could attack him before he could lift a finger to defend himself, even the weakest of the Decepticon would have had the better of him.

_Embarrassing_.

Throughout his life Sunstreaker had never felt so useless, so powerless, and he didn't like it.

Feeling weak.

How did the fleshling bear the idea of not being able to protect themselves or their families from them?

Yes, he had wasted some of his precious time to learn as much as possible about Earth and its inhabitants.

The most important thing to know was that fleshling were small. _Terribly small_.

Sunstreaker could have walked on them without even noticing, but even if he did he would have not cared.

The thing actually could be useful.

It would have been enough to see him to make them run away, at least he would not have to move.

Indeed, a good thing.

But now he had to rest a bit.

Perhaps more than a bit, but he needed to rest anyway, and so he would have done if his sensors, thought damaged, had not picked up a suspicious movement on his right.

The Autobot was unable to move, even the frenetic fret of his optics was tiring and painful, however he could not help but fidget.

He felt trapped.

And thought was difficult to admit it, Sunstreaker was scared.

Ridiculous for one of his caliber, and yet he feared for his life.

Mind you, he was not afraid to die, or being tortured. No.

His only fear was to leave his brother alone against the world.

Something inconceivable for him, the thought was enough to unnerve him, because Sideswipe would not last an astrosecond without him.

His brother _needed_ him, and Sunstreaker could not afford to die, however at the moment he was not able to decide whether to live or die, all he could do was look from the corner of his eyes the advance of the blurry figure.

Friend or Foe?

No one could say.

Sunstreaker just hoped to survive, or at least to have a quick and painless death.

However, the only thing he had was the time to be swallowed up in a pair of black and curious eyes before his vision system was deactivated.

* * *

Someone was watching him.

That was the first logical thought that Sunstreaker's detection system picked up once the little rest had reloaded, although slightly, his processor.

He could not say how much cycle had elapsed from the sudden and forced self-deactivation, the only thing he was sure of was that in the meantime no damage had been done to him.

_Odd._

And suspicious. _Highly_ suspicious.

Anyone would have taken advantage of him, even a human in his infinite uselessness as living being would not have missed the opportunity to dissemble him to play the mad scientist with his limbs, yet nothing had happened to him.

_Why_?

Not that being still in one piece bothered him, but _why_?

Why not kill him?

_Why_ spare him?

Had he stumbled upon some cruel and crazy creature who preferred to have his prey awake and conscious before torturing them?

Had he been so unlucky?

Maybe. No. Yes?

Not knowing was killing him.

But the worst thing was that which had been the truth he could not do anything but sit back and watch.

Sunstreaker growled, a_loud_, and It was then that his future murderer knew that he had awakened.

_Slaggin!_

An excited buzz to his right informed him about the position of the creature that had his life in his hand, something particularly dangerous judging the tranquility with which he approached him.

He, she, or whatever it was, _that thing_ was not afraid.

_Bad sign_.

Everyone would be afraid of him, even in his condition.

After all he was a giant robot,for _Primus's sake_!

His size was enough to make the knees shake, but not those of the creature, it seemed.

Brave or stupid, Sunstreaker didn't know how to describe his attempt to reach him, but when he felt a touch just below the shoulder the optics that he had pointed angrily at the sky slid sideways, and down and _down_ until his keeper finally took a shape and a _race. _Probably.

\- _What_ the _Pit_ are _you_?

Lucile winced visibly when she heard him talking, or hiss, or both.

She was not sure if that was his normal way of speaking, but one thing was certain.

A male.

That creature was unquestionably a male, or at least it was her opinion, not that she could _ask _him.

It would have been rude and embarrassing, and even if she could not know if _he _had her same perception of what could be considered rude or not she decide not to ask her questions but to answer his.

\- I'm Lucile.

_And what the slagg was a Lucile?_

Obviously Sunstreaker didn't repeat that question aloud, instead he took a little time to analyze that bizarre being and give an answer to his early questions.

_What was that thing?_

Obvious. A fleshling. Nothing else could have been so _small _and, well, fleshy.

Yet she was_ too_ small, even for one of her race.

Sure, he knew that some of that useless being could be particularly tiny, after all they too had little ones, but he was missing something.

A sparkling.

That's what she was.

A sparkling, or by using fleshling terms, a _child_.

The noisy grunt with which Sunstreaker expressed his revulsion towards the current situation brought Lucile to fidget and stretch toward him, her hands anchored to the edges of the stair on which she was raised.

A movement that he did not fail to notice and for which the Autobot found himself looking at her with distrust.

\- What?

\- Does it hurts?

Her question left him dazed, but more than the question itself, it was the concern in her voice to irritate him.

She was worried for him?

_Really?_

\- I don't need your pity, fleshling – he barked, gaze hardened by rage.

\- It's not pity. You are injured, mine is a natural question – she contradicted him with great irritation of Sunstreaker – and my name is not fleshling. It's Lucile.

\- I don't care about you denomination fleshy! You-

\- Yours way of speaking is funny.

Any possible curse he was going to throw her was annihilated by that _dowdy _word.

Funny_?_

Was she mocking him_?_

He was beautiful. Charming. Powerful.

In a nutshell he was the best. He was not, what again? Funny?

Who? _Him_?

_That little-_

_\- _Who do you think you are calling _funny, _fleshling _? _There is nothing funny here, and if only I could move I'd give you proof. I'm a Cybertronian, you should fear me!

\- So yours name is Cybertronian? Well, It's a little tricky but I can handle it, yes. I can. You know, I think that-

_For Primus's sake!_

-_ You_ glitch – he began to hiss to be immediately and annoyingly interrupted by her. _Again._

\- I told you before, I'm Lucile. Is it a difficult name? I don't think so, because, no offense, but yours is much more difficult than mine. I -

Ignore her or send her to the Pit?

The last. Maybe. Or Both.

Sunstreaker did not know what do thing anymore, but he had finally chosen how to label her.

Foe.

One of the worst. Unquestionably.

How was even possible for such a tiny being to be so noisy?

Shouldn't sparkling have much less air to talk?

Or that was a specialty of the fleshling ?

Maybe that was the way they killed their enemy. Boring them to death.

Clever. He had to acknowledge it.

However, lost as he was in his thoughts Sunstreaker had not noticed that she had stopped talking for a while.

Lucile had in fact began to count the wounds to get an idea of how many sheets would serve to patch the deep cracks and prevent the leaves to from getting stuck in the gears.

She had not yet understood _what _or from _where _Cybertronian exactly come from, but it was clear with what his body was made.

Metal.

Okay, maybe a metal non _exactly _ equal to their but it was a point from which to start.

After all Cybertronian had landed in_ her_ garden, and consequently he had become _her _responsibility.

Sure, she could and should have called someone, the police would be the best choice, but something told her that she would exposed Cybertronian to far greater dangers.

He was an alien, after all, and Lucile had read too many books on the subject to not know what they would have done to him.

Thus she would have kept him hidden and protected.

Yes. It was the right choice to do.

\- Why are you standing on a stairway?

Lucile looked up to meet the strange but pretty eyes of Cybertronian, finding him with his face bent to the side and a curios but not less wary light in his blue gaze.

\- Why should I not stand on a stairway ?

The way in which he stretched his lips explained to her that he had not expect that answer, and picking up the irritation on his face Lucile tried to rephrase the question in her head, but he anticipated her.

\- You fleshling are used to stand on a stairway. In the middle of nowhere. _Why_?

_Oh_. Right.

\- It's not a habit of mine. I did it for you. Anyway, what's a fleshling? It's something to eat? Are hungry? Because I can-

\- What the _slag_ I have to do now with that ? Are you glitching?

The eccentricity of that sparkling was beginning to be too much for his processor, and creepy, _really_ creepy.

What the Pit was wrong with her anyway?

She kept babbling nonsense from only Primus alone could know how much cycle, and now that little psycho was giving_ him_ the blame for _her_ own silliness?

Sunstreaker was going to glitch.

\- I don't think I understand _everything _you said but yes, I did it for you. I climbed on a stair when I realized you could not move. So when you'd woken you could look into my eyes when we talked. I didn't meant to make you uncomfortable, because I believe that not being able to look at the person with whom you speak make you feel _really_ uncomfortable. And since you can't move and I'm too short I decided to climb on a ladder in order to facilitate the thing.

\- How long have you been over there? – was the only thing he managed to say.

Lucile stopped to think about it for a moment, and looking at the now orange sky she gave him the answer.

Nine hours.

That little noisy crazy sparkling had been sitting on a ladder for nine hours.

For him.

\- _Why_?

His voice had gone out harder than he had intended, even a little too scratchy for his taste, but stem the flow of confusion, frustration and anger was impossible at the moment.

But she did not seem to grasp his agitation, or if she did Lucile chose not to say anything.

\- Because wake up and find no one near us is a sad thing. It makes you feel alone, and being alone it's not nice. It's unpleasant. Don't you think so Cybertronian?

Yeah.

It was indeed unpleasant to feel alone, but Sunstreaker was never _really_ alone, even during the war.

He had Sideswipe. He had his twin brother.

He would never be truly alone, but she didn't know it, and Lucile had acted accordingly by following her own experience.

And although he was not familiar with them, Sunstreaker _knew_ that a sparkling was not supposed to know those things.

It was not _right _for someone of her age to _know, _yet something in her eyes tell him that _she did_.

How?

Unfortunately that day Sunstreaker could not get an answer from her, but something that he had not expecting to receive by someone who was not his brother.

A promise.

And for those who like him did not believe in it, that '_I'll take care of you_ with which Lucile dismissed herself, waving her little hands and smiling at him was filed by his processor as one of the many bug he decided to ignore.

* * *

**Thanks for reading.**


	3. 3 - His knight in shining armor

**Thank you for using a little of your time to read me, and I would be really happy if you made me know what you think about the story.**

**I would be really**_**, really**_** glad. Just to know if it is too boring or if I should improve anything.**

**I'd like to know your opinion. Even small. I would appreciate it. **

**So here the third chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

If it were possible for a human to move an object by just staring intently at it then the needle of her alarm would have scored seven in the morning for quite a while, unluckily there were still five minutes to divide her from the beginning of a new and thrilling day.

Usually Lucile would spend a few more minutes under the warmth of the blanket, but she had too much to do for lounging.

The night before she had made sure to prepare all the necessary for the following morning so as to be immediately ready, and although she had difficulty falling asleep Lucile had tried to rest for not neglect her health, just like Lucrecia had told her before leaving.

It was indeed the thought of her grandmother to convince her to wait a little longer. Just a little more.

_Rest was just as important as eating_ was one of her favorite phrases, Lucrecia's way to remind her how important it was to follow the rules and, at the same time, hold off her own anxiety.

It was not easy to take care of a sick child.

Look after her had always required a lot of energy and time from her grandma, and insofar as Lucile tried to be independent to lighten Lucrecia of the burden of her condition the only way to reassure her grandmother had always been to follow the rules, something she had always done.

At least until yesterday.

So she waited, and waited and waited until finally the ring of the alarm give her the permission to start the day.

The bathroom was the first stop of her race against time.

Be a ten years old girl greatly simplified her daily routine.

A quick brushed at her black hair. A bit-and-run with the wash basin. One last look at the mirror and off to the second stop.

Dressing up was simply enough.

Usually she dressed according to her mood. And so she did that day.

The bright yellow of her dress was the perfect compromise between the excitement that lit her dark eyes and the desire to make Cybertronian feels at ease.

Could a color put at ease a person? Yes. It can. Or at least Lucile had read something about it in a book on color therapy, so she knew that it could make him happy to see something similar to him, or at least she hoped so.

Cybertron was indeed a strange creature, and not just because, well, _he was an alien robot_, it was his character to make him special in her eyes.

When she saw him her first instinct had been to run away, but when her eyes had pooped on the huge gashes the fear gave away to concern.

Stupid of her to worry about someone who could crush her with a finger, but she had only seen an injured person.

Not a threat.

Not a monster.

Only a wounded and lost creature who needed help. _Her_ help.

And no one had ever needed it, so that he wanted it or not she would give it to him anyway. And maybe, maybe, over time, she could also help him to return to his home.

It would have been nice, but right now the first thing to do was be accepted by him.

How, she did not know, but she would have started with trying to establish a bond with Cybertronian.

It was a nice day, and it would continue to be so if only the wheels of the cart had not been stuck in the mechanism of the sliding door.

And she needed the cart. Absolutely.

That was the only way to carry what would help fix Cybertronian's wound to the forest.

The alternative would have been to make more trips, but Lucile, who did not even have the strength to lift the wheels to slide the cart forward could never do it.

Yet, as often happened to her, where her physical strength did not reach her imagination could.

She was just make up her mind on what to use as a lever when she heard it.

_A cry of pain._

Short and sharp.

A sound toward which Lucile immediately run, forgetting everything.

The cart.

Her trouble.

And the awareness of having very little with which defend herself or Cybertronian, anyone who was found to be the enemy.

* * *

Sunstreaker had had problems to recharge, but he was stating the obvious.

It was _natural_. And depressing, not less.

How could it be otherwise?

After all he had lost the _slagging _sensibility in his pede and servo after he crushed his beautiful person on a _slagging_ land,_ after_ being defeated by a _slaggin _Decepticons.

How? _How_ he could recharge after all that?

Yet it was not only just the fact of being one step away from falling into stasis lock to prevent him from recharge, but a more disturbing memory, an irritating awareness.

And for what it cost him to admit it, he could not deny it or _her._

_A fleshling_.

The word was enough to disgust him, and if anyone had ever told him that one day, one of those useless creature would have saved his shiny aft he would hit he or she hard enough to assure him a ticket for the Pit, or for a visit to Ratchet that was more or less the same thing.

However, it was true.

She had saved him.

And Sunstreaker could continue to repeat to himself it was not anything special, that all would have done the same, but those were just excuse, because no one, _no one _would done it.

It was exactly that to disturb him.

Anyone would have taken advantage of him, even the most sympathetic of the human would have ended up selling him in exchange of something.

After all what was he to them?

He was not one of them or one of those protected species that everyone _was forced_ to safeguard.

He was a nobody.

Perhaps even a danger.

How could not they think that?

It was enough the diversity among their race, his height and equipment to make him unquestionably a threat.

Plus no one could feel tenderness toward him, toward a giant and terrifying armed robot.

Yet that _Lucile _had proved to be worried for him.

At first Sustreaker had thought that hers was a way to make him believe to be safe so as not to unleash his wrath until the arrival of the armed force, one of the many concern that had kept him awake, but it turned out to be what it always was.

A loss of time.

That's what it was.

Because when the morning had come none of what he had feared had come true.

No ambush.

No attempt to dissemble him in the night.

Just the fatigue and the irritation derived from the rest almost non-existent.

One thing was therefore unmistakable.

Lucile was his savior and currently his caretaker.

And that Primus would forgive him for what he was about to think, but know that he can have at least one ally, no matter how disturbingly tiny and weird his was, reassured him.

After accepting the chilling truth recharge had therefore become a possible option as well as a necessity.

He had fallen asleep in a astrosecond, overcome by fatigue and the certainty that by now it could not get any worse.

How naive he had been.

_Obviously _it could be worse than that.

It all began with a pinch.

_Yes._ A pinch.

A short but painful pinch.

How Sunstreaker had even been able to feel it was a mystery.

He was made of solid cybertronian metal for Primum's sake, not of that junk that human believe unbreakable.

He could not feel _pinchs._ It was not possible.

Yet he had feel it. And it had hurt. A lot.

What left him speechless was therefore the increase of those _pinches._

One. Two. At the third Sunstreaker decided to open his optics, and what he found was not exactly what he had expected to find, especially not _on_ him.

\- What the_ slag_ are you?!

A strangled cry was all that the odd being gave him before waving his huge wings and go back to tap his chest with his long and sharp nose, a move that typically would not have caused him any damage if only the little glitch had not touched one of the bare wires leaked from one of the many gashes.

Sunstreaker let out a scream of pain when he felt his nose sink lower, too close to the protective film that surrounded his spark.

_Too damn close._

What a shameful death, die at the hands of an animal.

If he were not suffering so much Sunstreaker would have even laughed for the irony.

He, so big and strong killed by a chicken.

_Hilariuos._

Sideswipe would come down to the Pit only to taunt him, he already imagined his brother yelling at him, but the voice that echoed in his audio receptors was not that of his twin brother, and yet it still managed to reassure him. Surprisingly.

\- _Away from him!_

The annoyed cry with which the slaggin chicken had suddenly pulled back from him led Sunstreaker to open his optics just in time to see a stone hit the animal in the head.

And another one, and another, until, in attempt to dodge the blow the animal was forced to take shelter behind the Autobot's knees.

Only then Sunstreaker allowed himself to look for her with optics wide with surprise and relief, sure to be saved from the danger, that perhaps thing could have been better, a hope that he saw vanish as soon as he remembered _who _really was his rescuer.

\- _Why_? Why you had to be_ so. slaggin_._tiny_?

Lucille raised on him a frightened look, arms full of stones that one of her little hands was about to hurl towards the white heron, and that gaze was enough to silence him.

Because see that look on her bothered him.

A contradiction since shortly before the thought of terrorizing the fleshlings made him smile with malice, but she, she complicated things.

Maybe it was the fact that, after all, she was just a sparkling.

A noisy, blabber and tiny, _oh Primus_, so tiny little sparkling.

Or simply because she was different. And odd. And stupidly kind to give shelter to an alien.

Whatever the motivation, he did not like it. See her scared.

He was just about to tell her to leave, optics already turned to the sky, when an unexpected weight on his right servo forced him to lower his gaze.

\- What do you think you're doing fleshling?

She ignored him and his surprised and annoyed tone, too busy to maintain the balance in reaching his shoulder and try to climb on him.

Not that it was easy with all those stones that she still clutched to her chest to unbalance her, but if there was one thing in which she was good, was that Lucile didn't give up easily.

She could feel his eyes on her. Cybertronian's cold-hearted eyes.

And although it was almost palpable his opposition to the contact Lucile continued to climb until she found herself rolling on his chest. Finally.

For a while she was belly up to catch her breath, stones to compress her chest and the rapid breathing to remember her limit, which included climb giant robot alien.

Her grandma, who barely allowed her to rise her own plate, would have gone crazy if she had know.

\- I bet that ignoring the _obvious _danger and climb on aliens that are threatened by evil and fat chicken is not one of your habit_._ But let me try to guess. You did it for me_, right_?

When he saw her spin on herself just to direct him a guilty and surprised look Sunstreaker almost smiled.

_Almost._

\- It's correct – she chirped with his deep discouragement.

\- And would you like to explain to me why, fleshling?

The sudden seriousness of her eyes troubled him while that annoying feeling of missing something returned to confuse his processor.

\- To protect you.

Laugh at her and at those _ridiculous, ridiculous _words would have been a must.

And yes. _Yes_. He had said ridiculous.

Because as far as he could appreciate and bear her strange and silly kindness that doesn't change the fact that for him Lucile, the fleshling,remained an outsider, just like everyone else.

He didn't need anyone else other than his brother, and sooner or later she would be tired of him.

Everyone got tired of him in the end, it was only a matter of time.

And judging by the situation in which they were Lucile would last a day before deciding to abandon the cold-hearted, insensitive and selfish creature who he was.

Sunstreaker began by ignoring her.

He pretended not to see Lucile turn around to deal with the fat chicken or note the way she looked at him, he just looked at the sky and start counting.

After all, how many cycle she would last before giving up on him?

* * *

Three solar cycle.

Three slagging solar cycle and she was still here, curled up on his chest with the two last remaining stones squeezed between her fingers and her little head lolling to the side.

How was even possible?

There was supposed to be a limit to a fleshling's stubbornness, right?

Yet Lucile was adamant.

In spite of the difference in size between her and the fat chicken, an heron he corrected himself, she had told to him that thing's real name the second sun cycle, at every shake of his giant wings Lucile replied with a stone.

And there were many stone, so many as to have lost count of them.

An example?

The heron croaked, and in response she struck him with a stone.

He made a sign to wanting to advance, then came another stone.

Again, so many stone.

Sunstreaker was therefore impressed by her bravery and temperament, and as insofar as he refused to admit it, he began to worry about Lucile.

Her tiny stature was enough to inform him of how frail she was, and the little sleep she had gained when also the heron had abandoned himself on exhaustion was not sufficient.

\- Enough.

It was less than a whisper, too low to wake up the animal but high enough to make him open his optics.

_Finally_ she had given up.

That was what Sunstreaker repeated to himself while Lucile fidgeted on his chest in an attempt to get off from him and run away.

It took her a little more of time, but as soon as her little feet had touched the ground an unexpected sense of loneliness attacked him.

He growled.

As if _he _could feel abandoned.

And by whom?

By a little and annoying fleshing._ Disgusting._

_He_ had wanted her to go. He had not asked for _anything._

It was for the best. Yes.

_It was._

So why see her disappear among the tress bothered him?

It was ridiculous. He was a_ slaggin_ Autobot. He was a warrior, not a pathetic human.

It was Optimus, the kind and understanding Optimus to worry about the feelings, not him.

Sunstreaker had no feelings. He had not time for such rubbish.

Right.

So why he kept looking at the point where she had just disappeared?

_Why_?

Perhaps it will be better for him to recharge. Yes. Recharge, at least before that little beast awoke, and judging by the sudden noise it had just happened.

Maybe Primus was angry with him, who could know, but he was just too tired to worry or open his optics.

Too tired.

And then he heard it.

A scream.

A human scream.

_Her_s.

The time to find out what was going on that a swirl of colors pounced on the animal taken by surprise from his attacker, Lucile.

The surprise and the unexpected bubble of heat in his spark prevented him from following the clash between them although from his position he can see very little.

A couple of dins, another shout, and then nothing more.

It had all happened so fast that Sunstreaker found it hard to believe that he had not just imagined it, but something must have happened because the weight of the heron was gone.

Could it be that Lucile had attacked him? Alone?

_For Primus's sake, _he was twice her size, she could not win, brave or not.

How stupid and irresponsible could-

\- I've done it.

It was Lucile's voice, unquestionably, but what came out from behind his left pede was a … _what the slag was that __now_?

Lucile waved her hands excitedly when she met his gaze, her thick and black hair messed up as if she had survived a storm.

\- I won – she chirped, eyes bright as stars – I won, Cybertronian.

\- What's on your head?

\- On my head?

\- Yes.

\- Oh, it's a pot.

\- And around you?

\- Around me?

\- _Yes._

_\- _A carpet.

\- And in your hand?

\- A broom.

\- Why?

\- Why what?

\- _Why _did you wear _those things?_

Lucile seemed to fall from the clouds, her arms now hanging along her sides.

\- Why should not I wear those things?

_Oh good Primus_, not again, for the love of Him.

\- _Explain_ – he ordered.

\- It's my armor.

\- Your armor.

\- Yes.

What he could say now?

\- This is the reason I left – she explained, voice suddenly low and serious - to build my armor and send away the heron.

And then she looked at him with so much sincerity and strength to leave him without words. Again.

\- I told you. I'll protected you. Did you not believe me Cybertronian?

No. He had not believed her. But maybe he could, a little. Perhaps.

\- It's Sunstreaker.

\- What? – she asked, blinking.

\- My name. It's Sunstreaker.

\- It's a nice name.

\- I know.

\- You are cocky.

\- I know that too.

\- Mine is still Lucile, by the way.

\- I know.

\- I know that you know it.

\- You are weird.

\- And you are rude.

\- Why?

\- Because you did not believe me.

Smile was not in his circuits, but it seemed that Lucile, his little and noisy bug had infected his processor to such an extent to make him almost believe that smile was not so wearisome.

_Almost._


	4. 4 - Nocturnal chitchats

If there was one thing_, _and he _knew_ that he was having an optimistic view of the horrible, _horrible_ things that had happened to him since his arrival to Earth, for which Sunstreaker had to feel grateful was that, among all the possible alternatives, to find him had been Lucile.

The reason?

For one thing she was smart. _Really_ smart.

It was _not _something to be underestimated given that Earth was not known for the intelligence of its dominant race.

And mind you, he was not talking about human's IQ. It would have been too simple.

What he meant was a mental sharpness which draws its sustenance from something deeper, more complicated and less obvious than a common feature such as intelligence was.

_Everybody _had been endowed with intellect, even the Decepticons, which was saying _something _considering _who_ was among their ranks.

No. He was referring to a wisdom that not anyone was able to cultivate, let alone to refine it, something he had surprisingly found in her, a ten years old little human.

And although it was not something to complain about, it was not _normal_. Not at all.

\- I can see them.

The way she saw Sunstreaker wince at the sound of her voice made Lucile smile while the initial surprise appeared in his eyes gave away to a more familiar annoyance.

Not that after just six days she could claim the right to know him so well and therefore be able to say what expect for him, but Lucile had always been an excellent observer.

\- You can see_ what_?

\- The wrinkles.

Expect to receive from her a _normal _reply had been foolish of him, how could it be otherwise?

He was talking with_ Lucile,_ and since he had opened his optics Sunstreaker _had not_ received anything normal from her.

\- I don't want to know – Sunstreaker grumbled.

\- You don't want to know what?

Close the optics would have deprived him of the sight of that small but brilliant head bent to the side and of those black eyes able to pierce his helm to rummage in his processor.

He could have done it, but something told him that she would find a way to make him feel her presence anyway, so go along with her was his only chance to not glitch.

\- What were you saying?

Lucile weighted him in silence for a few seconds before smiling and pointing him with a thin finger.

\- The wrinkles.

\- What about them? – he asked condescendingly.

\- If you keep frowning that way you will have them. The wrinkles I mean.

\- I _don't_ have wrinkles. It's physically impossible.

\- In fact mine was a metaphor - and maybe it was the light-hearted way she had said it to take him by surprise, or the sly smile with which she looked at him or… wait a minute.

_Sly_? She was a slaggin ten year old girl, she just _can't_ be sly!

Yet there was no other way to describe that smile or the vibrant light in her eyes, as she… as she… _she_…

\- _Are you mocking_ _me fleshling?_

It began with a tinkle.

An annoying and uncontrolled tinkle that Lucile tried to stifle with the little hands pressed over her mouth, eyes alight with amusement, as if there was_ really_ something to laugh about.

But she must have found his indignant scowl particularly amusing, because even before he could silence her with a dangerous hiss Lucile had rolled back for the strength of the laughter.

And for Primus's sake, even her laugh was abnormal!

It was too slagging strong, and loud, but like all the things he had seen her do that too was heartfelt and honest.

Mind you, he _also_ was honest in what he did, but his candor was cruel and wicked, something for which it was difficult to smile, while hers, the spontaneity with which she acted was not meant to hurt or fool anyone.

Plus Lucile had a strange perception of what was right or wrong, because joke with him was indeed a _wrong_ thing.

After all, no one joke with Sunstreaker.

There was nothing to laugh about with him and especiallynot _on_ him.

It was hard enough to have to deal with him, he did not allow the possibility, but unlike the others, she was able and _wanted_ to overlook his black humor and the grumpiness that made him unpleasant among his fellow, so that, for some absurd reason that he still found hard to understand, she found him _funny._

When Lucile caught the hint of a grin on his face, she let the laughter fade slowly, returning to sit with a push that Sunstreker did not take long to notice.

\- What? – she asked.

\- I still don't understand.

\- What do you not understand?

\- What you _really are._

_\- _I'm Lucile.

\- I was not referring to your denomination – he muttered nervously, optics narrowed with annoyance.

She copied his move instinctively, amused by how often he would wear that troubled expression.

It seemed that he could not do anything else.

Gloomy. Surly. Stiff. Sneering. Those were the aspect of the personality that Lucile had learned about, but which Sunstreaker did not want to put in the light the softer part.

Because she _knew _that there was softness in him.

Perhaps he did not even realize it, but more than once, when he thought he was not observed, she had noticed the way he was looking at the sky.

His eyes changed when he did it, they were colored by a sad shade of gray, a tonality of which she knew the meaning.

Longing for something. Someone.

A feeling that she understood too well.

\- Why are you looking at me that way now? It's creepy.

His sour tone startled her, and Lucile was about to ask him what he meant when the distant ringing of the home phone interrupted her thought and trailed off her voice.

And it was perhaps for the sad look that Lucile suddenly directed behind or the way her shoulders sagged once she was back on her feet, Sunstreaker could not say it with certainty, but even when he saw her go away, saying goodbye with a wave of the hand, that sense of discomfort did not abandon him, nor his gaze left her.

Optics clouded by a shadow of concern that Lucile, lost in herself as she was, had not had the chance to see.

* * *

Receive calls was a rarity in Dumas's home, a sporadic occurrence which made the incoming calls synonymous of trouble, because even though it was a rarity, to make it so it was necessary for something to happen, and of this rare event were responsible only two people.

Her grandma Lucrecia and her personal doctor.

No one else.

They were the only ones to call, the only ones to have the number, simply the only ones to contact her.

So there was no way to be wrong, especially since the latter used to limit their contact on the basis of monthly appointments, and Lucile remembered to have heard him last week.

Therefore, she had known from the beginning whose would be the voice on the other side of the receiver, only that she did not understand the reason for that call, not since her grandmother would return the next day.

But in truth Lucile had expected it.

Ever since she had heard the first ring, after every step necessary to reach her room, she knew, _knew_ what Lucrecia was about to say.

After all it had already happened before.

Not that her grandma lied to her when she said she was leaving for work, it was true, but when she informed her of a delay in the delivery that required her attention and a week or a month longer than expected then it was in that that Lucile saw the lie.

A white and harmless lie that was aimed to protect her.

Too bad she knew the truth.

However Lucile had never had the courage to tell her, frightened by the thought of being able to cause her pain with the knowledge of what was going on.

She had preferred to keep quiet in the hope that her grandma would have accepted it as she had done, none of them could do anything anyway.

And that, _that _was exactly what hurts her, Lucrecia 's inability to give up, that fierce will to find a remedy that did not exist, to create false hopes that once crushed would hurt too much.

She had been crying for the whole call, but Lucile had been careful to swallow the tears before answering her questions.

She had to bite her tongue not to prey her grandma to come back and use the time available with her rather than around the world, but like every time she was on the verge to _tell_ her the fear returned to freeze the words in her mouth.

Her grandmother had told her to be a good girl before end the call, and as always she had promised.

Then the bed had accepted her trembling figure with a soft croak, the pillow wet with the tears that swelled her throat and eyes, hands rushed to cover her sobs for fear that Sunstreker might hear them.

He had to feel alone without her, although he would never admit it, but he would have to wait a little longer, the time for her to finish the tears and wash her face.

Just a little.

Yes.

A little.

Just a little more.

* * *

Sunstreaker was furious.

Incredibly and unquestionably furious, and he did nothing to hide it. Quite the opposite.

He _wanted_ that his mood was sensed by his surroundings, especially with that little and annoying fleshling who had ignored him for the whole day.

And no one ignored Sunstreaker.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he had spent _too much_ of his precious time to analyze her behavior that besides having angered he had caused that annoying itch in his processors.

_Absolutely nothing_.

The reason for his anger lay in the fact that she _had allowed_ him to get bored, and if there was one thing he hated was that.

Be bored.

Because if he was bored than he began to think, and that was not a good thing.

Because Sunstreaker needed to distract himself for not glitch at the thought of not being still reunited with Sideswipe in addition to the fact of not being able to do _absolutely nothing._

Therefore, he had all the right to be angry and to blame her.

After all, he was too selfish to consider himself responsible for his own misery and too jealous of his staff to share it, so be ignored by Lucile who could be considered_ his_ clumsy caretaker was not tolerable.

He would have made sure to make her feel guilty at the first opportunity and that one showed with the sound of familiar footsteps.

Yet the fierce grin with which Sunstreaker had decided to welcome her cracked slightly when his optics recognized in the dark the petite figure, noticing immediately that something was wrong.

_Terribly wrong._

The first thing to shock him was her posture.

Lucile walked, in fact, with her head down, her thick and wavy black hair to cover what little skin escaped from the cocoon of blankets in which she had wrapped herself and that made her steps incredibly clumsy.

But what really left him stunned was the absence of that liveliness that he was beginning to find almost reassuring.

\- What happened?

With a start Lucile interrupted the shaky walk, but she was quick enough to suppress the urge to lift her chin and follow the low and dangerous voice of Sunstreaker who did not seem to appreciate that sudden display of shyness.

\- What happened? - he asked again, his optics narrowed for the growing anger derived from an answer that was slow to come – I'm not a patient bot, fleshling, what-

\- Can I sleep with you?

Wait.

_What?_

He had not seen it coming. Not such a request at least.

\- I don't-

\- Can I sleep with you? – Lucile murmured again, her voice so tiny and frail to disturb him –_ please_?

Sunstreaker looked at her like he perhaps never had looked before, his processor devoid of the poison with which he bathed his words and sparks, and he marveled about what he found. What he _felt._

There was a brief of shock inside him, a wave of something to which he would not give a name, a pleasant warmth able to snatch a hiccup to his spark before the need to put a stop to that odd feeling led him to smile dryly.

\- If I say no would it make any difference? Until now you did what you wanted, right? – he teased her, his voice a little less sharp, but when Lucile gave no sign that she had caught the sarcasm Sunstreaker could not help but roll his optics and mutter a curse.

\- Come on Lucile, I don't have all the lunar cycle!

With a surprising speed she began to climb on him, the blanket to wave on her shoulder like the mantle of a superhero while he kept trying to catch her eyes.

But only when she sank down on his chest with the blanket once again around her Lucile allowed him to meet her eyes, finally realizing why she had kept them low.

They were puffy. Reddened. Glossy and tired, but still able to smile at him with kindness.

\- You said my name – she chirped excitedly, snatching him to the contemplation of the wet trail on her cheeks to aim at her an indignant look.

\- _You are lying_.

\- I'm not – Lucile contradicted him, frowning.

_Of course _he knewit was true, but right now it was not about his slip of tongue that he wanted to talk.

Plus something told him that she was trying to change the subject, somethinghe_ obviously_ would not allow.

\- What happened? – he pressed again, catching the slight stiffening of her posture.

\- Nothing – she answered quickly. _Too quickly._

Lucile was hiding something from him, something that had the ability to make her cry and sadden her, a chance he had never taken into account.

After all, she was _Lucile_.

The little, noisy, chatty, annoying and always smiling Lucile, not some stupid and whimpering fleshling.

And perhaps the thought of being able to list her quality would make him cringe, but Sunstreaker was too busy to be annoyed with whatever had caused the change in her behavior to worry about his own insanity.

\- Do not you dare lie to me fleshling.

\- I'm not.

\- You're.

\- I'm not.

_Fragg it!_

\- _Why must you be so slagging annoying?_

Lucile pouted her lips in a gesture of frustration, her arms wrapped protectively around herself.

She had not gone there to talk about her problems, she was not emotionally ready for that and perhaps would never be, but it was the first time that Sunstreaker made the effort to strike up a conversation.

The first time he seemed interested to know something about her, an attempt to make a bond between them.

\- Let's play a game.

A moment of astonished silence followed her suggestion, the time for Sunstreaker to reformulate the phrase without hiding his instinctive distrust.

\- _Why_?

\- So we can know each other better – was the obvious answer she gave him, an obviousness that he still found hard to grasp, but he decided to let her do what she wanted for the health of his processors.

\- _Fine._

\- It's a turn-based game.

\- What for?

\- To prevent you to be the only one to ask questions and not to respond to any of mine.

Okay, that was weird. _Really _weird.

How the Pit did she find out? Was he so obvious?

Or maybe she knew him well enough to predict his moves.

_Creepy_. And disturbing. But a smart move, he recognized it, a smart but still creepy move.

Clever femme.

\- So each of us asks a question to the other – she went on to explain - One question and one answer. We can't refuse to answer, but we have the possibility to choose one thing which we can refuse to talk about. It's our veto power.

\- You're smart – he thought aloud, amazed by her bright mind without realizing that he had made it sound like an insult with his surprised tone, but Lucile chose to ignore him, clutching the blanket around herself before looking him in the eyes with resolve.

\- Ready?

\- Go ahead fleshling.

\- How did you get here? – she asked.

\- It's a long story-

\- You cannot refuse to answer!

\- Alright. I was attacked.

The way he saw her eyes widen amused him, but with the growing concern in her gaze Sunstreaker chose not to tease her.

\- Who attacked you? – Lucile whispered, her face pale and worried.

\- One question fleshling, remember? I-

\- It's part of the question – and she even managed to make it sound like a matter-of-fact-.

\- Who attacked you?

\- Starscream, no one who-

\- Star scream? – Lucile interrupted him, a_gain_, her lips curled into a grimace – It sounds strange. Starscream. No. I don't like the name, it makes me think about something hysterical.

Abruptly the chest on which she was curled up, vibrated for the laugh that shook Sunstreaker gears, an amusement that he found difficult to stop, but that he forced himself to limit to the cunning gleam of his optics.

\- I could not describe him better. _Hysterical_! You're a slagging talent! – he roared with another uncontrolled laugh, but Lucile did not seem to share his amusement.

Not even a bit.

\- He is still looking for you? Are you in danger? What-

\- Wow, slow down little glitch. No one is in danger here, and even if there was the possibility, I made him harmless for some Orn, so- but for him there was no way to finish the sequence, not when he caught with a shiver of fear a look that he had seen on her before.

\- _No_.

The hardness of his tone startled Lucile, but that was nothing compared to the wilder look she had ever seen on him, an expression so cruel to make her feel uncomfortable for the first time.

\- But I- she tried, ending up with being interrupted by a low and throaty hiss.

\- _No_. I know what your little and crazy head had thought and no. In_no slagging way_ I will allow it.

\- I don't under-

\- Yes, you do. I recognize that look, it's the same of when you're about doing something incredibly stupid.

Lucile stared at him for a while, still troubled by his words before lowering her head and pull the blanket to cover her face, her voice again small and insecure.

\- But I want to protect you.

There it was again. The _hiccup_.

Always short. Always odd.

Yet that time Sunstreaker did not ignore the warmth, but filled his voice with a little of the strange fondness he felt for a tiny being who occasionally could unleash a soft squeeze in his spark.

\- I'm flattered, but no. So, no rock. No stones. No-

\- And lemons? Lemons are okay, right?

_What?_

_\- _I… I don't think to understand.

\- Lemons. Can I use lemons?

\- To do what?

\- To hit him. To hit Starscream.

_Oh Primus_.

\- You want to hit Starscream with _lemons_?

\- Yes, but my grandma's lemon. You know, their juice is more sour than the normal ones. And since I can't use the rocks, then I can use the lemons. The stones would not do anything to him anyway, after all you are made of metal, but lemons can do something. If we can dirty his hands with my grandma lemon juice we should wait for him to bring his hand on his eyes and we won! You know, lemon juice burns eyes, even yours, so while he is temporarily blind we can run away. So? Can I use them? Can I?

\- Are you serious?

\- Of course!

\- No.

\- Why not? It's an excellent plan!

He was not having such a strange conversation. No. It was not happening.

Sunstreaker_ really_ tried to believe himself, but in front him there was that little and crazy fleshling who continued to look at him with a pout.

And although the image of her intent to launch lemons to Starscream could make him laugh, the thought of that son of Unicron a few feet from her terrified him.

No. That slagging Decepticons should not even dare to come near her.

_No_.

\- No.

Lucile tried to rebel against him, but there was still that hard look to convince her not to pull the string too much.

\- Fine. Well, It's your turn. What's your question?

Yes. What's his questions?

There were many things he wanted to know, _so many_, but there was one that right from the start had raised more questions about her habits.

\- What is the little bag you always carry with you?

Cold.

Lucile felt a cold shiver cross her back when she heard the question, the last one she wanted to get.

She did not expect it. Or maybe she had only hoped to make her oddness go unnoticed.

After all, he did not know human habits.

And she had tried to be as natural as possible, but or Lucile had betrayed herself in some way or Sunstreaker knew about human more than she believed at first.

Maybe it was that way. Maybe he understood. Maybe-

_No_.

Trembling, she tightened the grip around the small handbag from under the cover.

No. He didn't know. Because if he had known then his eyes would be changed.

_He_ would be changed. Just like everyone else.

_No_. He didn't know. And so it would have to be until the end.

Sooner or later he would go away, herself would help him to do so, after all that was not his place.

Not in her garden. Not in her life. Not with her.

After all someone was waiting for him out here, she was sure of that.

What was the point then?

Confess would only make things weird, and that was the last thing she wanted.

She was already happy.

Why ruin happy things? There was no reason.

So she just shook her head under the puzzled look of Sunstreaker.

\- Really? _A bag_? You use the veto power for a _bag_?

\- Yes.

He watched her for a long time. How much he did not know, but not enough to find an answer to that other oddity on which he would later found an explanation.

\- Fine. Then what about your creator?

\- Creator? You mean Jesus?

\- Not one of your gods fleshling. Your creator. Your Parents. Where are they?

Well, that for her was pretty simple to explain.

\- They gave up on me.

The tone she had used had been quiet and expressionless as the ones used to explain something simple, something taken for granted, but there was nothing of the sort in her statement.

As if being abandoned and reject by a creator could be considered _normal_.

No. It was not acceptable. Not according to his processor.

No creator could repudiate his progeny.

It was against nature. Against every Cybertronian law.

Even his and Sideswipe's creator, as cold and heartless as she was towards them, had recognized them as her own.

But the more he looked at her coolly expression, the less he understood how it was possible for a race known for its attachment to the children to make such an _abomination._

\- I did not want to upset you – she consoled him, catching Sunstreaker by surprise with a look too adult on her still unripe features.

_Wrong._

It was all wrong. Her expression. Her words. The sympathetic tone of her voice.

Why? What was he missing?

_\- _ It's alright, really. I'm not sad anymore. After all, I have my grandma.

\- How could they give up on you? - and there was so much venom and anger in his voice to make her jump in surprise before the real reason for Sunstreaker's harsh reaction made her smile with affection.

Because he was not angry with her, but_ for_ her.

Such a softy he was, but Lucile had always known that there was much more behind his mask.

So much more.

\- I know you would not have done the same if you were in their place.

It was true.

He would not have done the same if she was his sparkling. If she… he shook his head.

\- But it's alright. I'm not sad anymore. So, it's my turn again. Are you ready?

\- I'll never be with you – was his dry comment.

\- Fine. Then this is the question. Why did you come here?

A flash of sorrow clouded his optics before Sunstreaker answered.

\- To find my brother.

Chaos.

Absolute and total chaos was what followed his confession.

It came unexpectedly, but when it burst, he found himself with a noisy and overactive Lucile pressed against his face plate.

\- You have a brother? Why do you not tell me? What's his name? Where is he? Can I meet him? Do you think he will like me? And if-

\- _Enough_ – he roared, silencing immediately the little being who raised in him a sheepish gazes.

\- I'm sorry.

\- Got to sleep fleshling, we played enough for today.

\- But-

\- No. It's late for you, after all you come here to sleep. Am I wrong?

Lucile shook her head in resignation, but instead of returning at her place she curled up in silence a little higher up on his chest, above his spark.

\- Why did you go there?

\- It's warmer here than where I was before.

The grunt with which Sunstreaker commented her statement tore her a wince and a confused expression.

\- What?

\- It's obvious that it is warmer. It's my spark.

\- What's a spark?

\- It's my heart and soul.

\- _Oh._

Gently she rested her ear on his chest, her wavy and long hair to cover her half closed-eyes.

And then, with a gasp, Lucile looked up, a soft and excited smile on her face.

\- I hear it – she whispered.

Sunstreaker smiled a little, his optics on the point of closing in recharge when-

\- So what's his name?

Oh. _Primus_.

-_Sleep_.

\- Not until you tell me his name.

_Stubborn femme_.

\- Sideswipe. His name is Sideswipe.

\- And is he older than you?

\- Only the name – he roared, annoyed with her slagging curiosity – This was _all _you wanted to know.

\- But It's important!

\- No. It's not. And now go to sleep.

\- No.

\- _Lucile_-

\- You said my name again – she giggled, and as often happened, _too often_ for his taste, Sunstreaker surrendered.

\- No. We are twins, so no. He is not older than me.

\- Twins? – Lucile marveled - It's a cool thing. Be twins, I mean. Isn't it?

\- Maybe. Even if hear and feel the voice and the emotion of your stupid brother all the slagging time it is not _cool. _And believe me when I say that he can be, stupid, _ really, really _stupid.

There it was the person to whom he thought when he looked at the sky.

The person who could bring out Sunstreaker's soft part.

His twin brother.

A person she would never be able to meet, but from whom maybe she could be heard. Maybe.

\- How?

\- What?

\- How do you feel him? His voice and emotions? How?

Again a strange question. But Sunstreaker was too tired to make a scene.

\- We have the same spark, so I feel what he feel and vice versa. Why?

\- And now? Can he feel you now?

\- Yes, even if the distance disturbs the signal – and then he paused, confused by the flash of happiness darted for a moment in her eyes.

\- Can I talk to him then?

But for him there was no time to reply, because Lucile did not wait to receive an answer, and even before he could say anything she had approached her face to his chest, a tiny smile on her mouth.

\- Hi – she began, attracting the more and more confused gaze of Sunstreaker as she bent her head to the side, almost as she were trying to find a more comfortable position to do whatever she was doing.

What, he did not know, but when he did something inside him writhed gently.

\- My name is Lucile. It's been rude of me to not introduce myself before, but I _swear_ I did not know about you, not until now, so here I am. You have a nice name, do you know? Sideswipe. Yes, a really nice name.

Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself and tell you that your brother is not alone, so you don't need to worry. He'll be fine. I'll help and protect him. I promise. And if-

But Sunstreaker was no longer able to feel.

Not her kind and small voice.

Not the gently pats on his chest.

Nothing.

He could feel nothing.

He was numb. Dizzy.

Maybe for her words. Or maybe because he was not used to receive _so much._

So much kindness.

So much care.

So much love. Yes. Love. Lucile was drowning him in it. In love. It was even possible to have so much love inside?

How?

_How_?

\- Did he hear me?

With a start Sunstreaker came to feel again, to hear her voice and to see the hopeful look on her face.

\- What?

\- Sideswipe. Did he hear me?

Maybe he did. Maybe he did not. Sunstreaker did not know if her voice had come up to his brother given the distance, but the flicker of his spark, Sideswipe must have felt that. Yes.

He must have felt that.

\- Yes.

The smile she gave him was the most radiant that he had seen, the proof of how much more was still in her.

Too much for a body as small as hers.

But if there was one thing he had learned from Lucile, was that the size did not matter and that looks can be deceiving.

\- Sleep now.

\- Alright, but can we play again tomorrow?

\- Yes.

\- And after tomorrow?

\- _Sleep_. _Now_.

With a muttering she hid under the blanket but not before giving him a pout for which he smiled weakly.

\- Sunstreaker?

He did not open his optics, he was too tired and confuse to move, but he grumbled to make her know he was listening anyway.

\- I'll help you to go back to him. I promise.

Another promise.

So many promises by who in return did not expect to receive anything.

Such a strange creature Lucile was, but a creature in whom he began to believe, in her and in the promises that he knew she would keep.

All of them.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **


	5. 5 - Give yourself a chance

Normally, questions were being asked to learn something about someone else, it was the most common form to discover the other, the world and what seems to us unknown, and it did not matter what or who was the subject, the modality was always the same for anyone.

One question. One answer.

An easy concept to understand, to adopt, but for a selfish being which Sustreaker had always been, inquire about what others liked was ridiculous as well as pointless.

Why would he do that?

He didn't care about the world, let alone about the _other,_ and he was too lazy and bored to care about what he didn't know, he simply let it go.

In fact, look for points in common with the other was a social activity adopted by those who were _interested _in what they were asking to establish a bond, and that was _exactly_ the reason why Sunstreaker shunned what for him looked like a total loss of time_, his_ precious time.

And no one was never worthy of his time, except for his brother _obviously. _

However, it was not only his cynical nature to have limited the circle of his affections to a single being, it was his very Cybertronian nature to require a careful and thoughtful choice about who to appoint as a possible link.

Their ties, unlike those of humans, were eternal.

The self-same act of tying someone up was much more complex and deeper than any declaration of love or affection.

Friend, comrade, no matter what was the title, every choice involved more than a few words of devotion or promises that the time and opportunity would have broken.

The eternity in their culture took a fatalistic and tragic tinge, because in their case there was no chance to pick up the pieces if even one of those links had been destroyed, no chance to replace what was once lost.

Waste one of those ties meant to be deprived from a part of themselves, and there was a limit to how much a Cybetronian could afford to lose before losing himself in the act.

It was indeed necessary to choose with care with who bind themselves, a choice that would affect their judgment on whatever and whoever surrounded them.

The relationship with those who did not belong to their affective sphere were indeed woven according to the danger that the outsider could represent for the stability and the safeguard of their bond.

That one was the priority.

Protect the family. Shield the ties. Take care of the sparkling.

Thus, bind to something as fragile as a human being would mean condemning himself to an inevitable suffering, and yet, Sunstreaker felt no remorse for allowing Lucile to get so close to his spark, a decision taken in accordance with a bizarre logic that had always distinguished him from the other.

His was a linear thought, a reasoning which consisted of a few factors.

Him. Her. And what he wanted.

Nothing too complicated after all.

So, from something so simple there was an answer as much as simple.

And mind you, that one was not the result of a whim, or the need to repay her unnatural kindness, his was a decision taken on the basis of what had been a distinctive trait of his processors.

_Selfishness_.

Selfishness was what moved his every action, his every thought.

It was not so surprising. Everyone knew that Sunstreaker acted with ulterior motives.

Everything he did was for himself or his brother.

He took what he wanted, what could make both happy, and surprisingly Lucile had become one of the few things able to make him feel that way.

So why not?

Sunstreaker did not want to deny himself and his brother the chance to be happy when the opportunities were so few, when the number of creatures capable to penetrate their armor were equal to zero.

Yes. He was fond of her, of a _fleshling_, something inconceivable for him who had proclaimed himself hater of all mankind since from the beginning, but it had happened anyway, and most importantly, with such naturalness to confuse him.

Love and be loved by him required more than a being was willing to give.

All or nothing, that was his way of love, how Sunstreaker wanted and _pretended _to be loved, something of which no one was capable of.

Gives oneself completely was scary, dangerous, a deprivation that the fear of being betrayed and left to their own made it impossible to accomplish, but that was the way to love and to be loved by a Cybertronian.

Unconditionally and eternally.

No second thought. No second chances. Nothing.

So how could a human, a selfish creature brought to the preservation of his own survival at the expense of that of others, be able to love like that?

Simply. He could not, it was not in his nature.

But she, she could do it.

Lucile knew how to love, _how to be different from others, _it has been clear since the beginning, since those kind and knowing eyes had rested on him without the fear of the different.

And it mattered little that he was not able to hurt them because of his condition, regardless the circumstance he would be attacked, instead he had been spared, and protected, taken care of, _even loved_, moreover of a love that only his brother had been able to give him, changeless and unpretentious as well as her promises had been.

Because she had sworn that she would help him, and in the small of her ability she had, from the first moment, beginning with the building of stuff manikin to ward off the birds he saw flying over his heads and ending with the connecting of the wire of his processors to the electric generator of her house.

Lucile had proved to be clever and hard-headed despite her age.

She did not give up easily, and no matter how hard the situation seemed, in a way or in another she had always found a solution to his problem.

She was good, too good for her own sake. In fact, Lucile's knowledge went beyond what a child should have known, so much so that he had come to ask the reason during their turn-based game

Books. That was her answer. Piles and piles of book.

Lucile loved to read. Sometimes, when the night was not too cold, she even lay on his face plates to show him the figures from the book she was reading for the three of them.

Three. Not two.

For him. For herself. And for Sideswipe.

Since she had learned about his brother every game, every drawing or reading was also addressed to him, as if he was with them, a concern that had struck him.

Because she understood, unlike others, that he and Sideswipe were a single entity, an indivisible being who had to be appreciated and accepted in his entirety, never separately, even when the defects of one obscured the merits of the others so as to make impossible to want them both.

\- I'm not _so_ fat.

The puff of warm air that suddenly embraced her back brought Lucile to look up from the sketchbook on which she was drawing in silence for a while, a confused expression on her face.

\- You've drawn me fat - was the explanation Sunstreaker gave to her through the speakers.

Lucile looked back at the sketchbook with a frown, not quite sure what he was referring to.

Had she overplayed the pencil's line?

No. She hadn't.

The lines were clean and thin, nothing to complain about.

Of course hers was the drawing of a ten year old girl, nothing too elaborate, certainly not a masterpiece, but something cute, an adjective that several times Sunstreaker had diminished with disgust if associated with his person.

Beautiful.

Gorgeous.

Handsome.

Those were the only qualities know in his vocabulary, the only ones that can be addressed to, in his own word_, a stunning being_ as he was, therefore it was not her drawing to make him look fat, because whatever she had done with him as the protagonist, it would always be the victim of controversy knowing his narcissism.

\- That's not true.

One of his wipers shot up when he saw Lucile lift her chin with decision, eyes brightened by the strength of her adamant conviction, another thing for which he admired her, and there was much to appreciate in Lucile, as the security that, no matter how much time he passed to dissemble or confuse her thoughts, nothing could change her mind, bend her will or break her spirit.

\- You've drawn me fat – he repeated with boredom, hiding the spontaneous smile born on his gears when Lucile tapped the pencil on the dashboard, her face flushed with embarrassment.

It was nice to have her so close, especially since he was able to take his alternate form.

That way he could have her closer, even when the night grew colder. It was enough to turn on the heating to warm her up, and the seats could become a soft and comfortable bed.

Yes. He had no way to have a sophisticated design as he wanted, and he had to be content with the anonymous machine that Lucile had in her house's garage, but he was still grateful to have a little more freedom of movement.

As cycles went on, Sunstreaker had begun to appreciate more and more her presence, at times, when the frustration of being able to do so little assailed him, he was even grateful that she was with him.

If it had not been so, things would have been worse, so much worse.

She had become a steady, a certainty, because, despite everything, Lucile would always be there when he needed her, and there was no need to hear it every time, he _knew _it.

It was one of those things that can't be explained, but are known, just as he knew that Sideswipe would do the same. Because he was his brother. Because she was Lucile. That's it.

With a puff she lay back on the skin of the seat, eyes on the drawing that she had raised to make sure that they both could see it.

It was a nice picture, but not that you would expect to receive from a little girl.

Three and houses were the subject that normal children would have drawn, hers were instead strange alien, tall as skyscrapers, hand in hand with a tiny swirl of color that represented her.

Odd. Unusual. And maybe a little bizarre, but nice, and heartfelt, just as her feeling were.

Sunstreaker had seen dozens of those drawings, all different, all colored, but always with smiling characters, a way to remember her once he was gone Lucile said, the memory of a chapter of his life to carry with him whenever he go, to share with his brother.

_As if he could forget her. _

_As if he could let her go._

He couldn't. He won't.

After all, he was a selfish creature, and as such he would act.

Sunstreaker had never stopped sending signals to his brother, not even for a moment, a useless movement seen his condition, but since Lucile had connected him to the generator, as insofar as weak as the flux of energy was, his processors were able to recharge at least a little.

Not much, but a little, _the necessary_.

Obviously she knew nothing of it.

Nor about his attempt to reveal his position to Sidewispe. Nor about his decision to take her away with him.

Perhaps he had decided it unknowingly since from the beginning, but nevertheless, let her go had never been among the choices.

And why? Why let her go?

Take her away with him was the best choice, and most importantly, it was _what he wanted_, so why not?

After all, no one, not even Optimus would have a say in it.

Not against a _bond_, moreover with him Lucile would be safe and loved as she had not been among her own race, as a sparkling deserve.

He and his brother could take care of her, they could even be her creators.

Why not?

She was a sparkling. He loved her. His brother must have sensed the new bond, so why not?

Fleshlingwas the answer, the _negative _answer.

Because even if for him Lucile was no longer one of them ever since his processors and spark had labeled her as _his, _ for the others, for the Earth and the humans she was still one of their children, but not for him.

Killing them was the best choice, what he would do it only they had tried to take her away from him.

_As if he had allowed something like that._

_No one_ could put his hand on something of his own without suffering his wrath. No one.

Sunstreaker would have been willing to fight his own comrades, his own leader to get Lucile.

She deserved so much more than that life of suffering and renunciation she had, and he could give her the best.

_Him_.

What could be better than him? Than his love?

Nothing, not even the love of the fleshling she called grandmother.

Unlike that human he would never have left her alone, he would not leave her to deal with all that pain, the sadness that dirtied always her gaze.

He could give Lucile a second chance, the best chance, with him and his brother. He believed it.

He would have done it.

\- Lucile?

\- Yes?

\- It's time to go.

The tip of the pencil broke, tainting the face she was drawing so careful to have lost track of time and space, something she often did when she wanted to escape from the real world to get lost in what she imagined.

There, everything was better, happier, she, was happier. She could do what she wanted.

Run without getting tired. Walk without hearing the whispers behind her back.

There, time stood still and waited for her, she did not have to chase it, while it had always been the opposite in reality.

Time was a weighty thing for her.

In truth, she was even scared of it.

Of time.

A huge grandfather clock, that's the way she had always imagined it.

A huge, black and imposing grandfather clock whose pendulum in its slow swing seemed to get closer and closer to her, while she could not move from its path.

Not even by a millimeter. Not even by a footstep.

When she was five she had even claimed that her grandmother took away all the clocks in the house, terrified as she had been, but when she hadrealized that the countdown was _inside her, _then she had allowed Lucrecia to put them back in place, and growing up, she had learned to take advantage of time instead to fear it.

There was a time for everything, and it was time to let him go.

Lucile had known since from the beginning that this time would come, because in the end everyone would go away without her.

It was a matter of time. It always was.

With a nervous movement of her hand she wiped the smear, ending with completely wipe her smiling face, and Lucile tried to smile anyway in the review mirror to let him know that everything was fine.

She will be fine. She had to.

\- Is Sideswipe here? – she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

\- He will be in a couple of hours.

\- Oh – was all Lucile managed to say before lowering her face, her eyes moistened by the tears she was trying to hold back along with the words.

She should be happy for Sunstreaker, and she was, really, but the sorrow tightened her throat and prevented her from telling him how glad she was.

Because she loved him. She loved him so much to tremble at the thought to lose him, to return alone. Again.

But she knew, in her frail heart, that there was someone else waiting for him, for that complicated but kind creature of which she was so fond of, the cold and fake anti-hero who could rush to her aid without betraying the agitation which made his eyes tremble every time she fell or was too far away from him.

So how could she not love him?

After all, he had given an answer to the questions of a lifetime.

How would it have been to have a father, even for a moment.

She had imagined it so many times to get lost in her own fantasy.

How it would be? But more importantly, but most importantly, _what _was a father?

Was he kind or gruff?

Cruel or wicked?

Would he teach her to play and protect her from the monsters under the beds?

Or Would he ignore her cry? Her need of love?

She didn't know, even if Lucrecia had tried several times to be a father for her, but now, _now _Lucile knew.

A father was stern, but also kind.

Someone able to make you feel safe with a word or even an absent-minded look.

Who could soften the angular and sharp features of his nature for the comfort of his child.

And it was nice to have one.

Though who she had found as a father figure was an alien, odd, but she had always been odd, aware of how important it was to make happy those she loved even at the expense of her happiness.

So she smiled despite the sorrow, and she continued to do so even when she came out of the car to reach her room and prepare herself for a trip at the end of which she would come back, alone, one step closer to the pendulum that for a moment she managed to dodge.

Only for a brief moment.

But it was enough. It had to be enough for her.

* * *

Freedom was important, something owed, something vital.

Everybody had the right to be free. After all, they were born that way, and who was not, needed to be made such by those who had the power to release them from the chains, emotional or physical that they were, but it was not easy to release someone, to let them go.

It was painful, and sad, so much sad, to make you cry, and no one wanted to be like that, to deprive themselves from something that made them happy.

Selfishness made them blind and deaf to the suffering of the others, unable to understand that it was exactly their firm grip, that hand closed cruelty around the wrist of the other to do the most harm, to hurt the most, as if there wasn't already enough misery in the world.

But they were just scared, _so_ scared of suffering, of being and be left alone, of not being loved anymore to forget about anything else.

Yet they did not do it on purpose, it was an instinctive reaction, a primitive need.

To hide their heart. Protect themselves from pain and wounds. Cling to what we love even when doing so we destroy what we have.

It was easier. Safer. But not fairer.

Because there were other people to be aware of, who loved the same way those who we kept tied up, who we wanted to go down with us.

The heart was a fragile and selfish little thing, unable to stop loving, to let things go, it might even break in the attempt of doing so, but sometimes, it was necessary to loosen the grip and make them free, something to which she was accustomed since hers had always been too weak to be able to hold long something, someone.

The street light lit up her face as she proceeded at a brisk pace towards the bus stop, her rubber boots sinking in the puddles that she believe to be the gateway for others world. Better world, maybe.

So she had taken the habit to jump in to test her imagination and above all, to cover the whispers she generated in those who recognize her, but no one of the habitants of Tallahassee had ever called her by her first name, not even the kids of her area.

The people had referred to her with nicknames.

_That_ girl, s_he_ were the most common, but over time people and especially children had become more imaginative and _cruel. Really _cruel.

Lucile had always known that she was different from others, o_dd_, but as a child she did not understand why she get tired so quickly, too quickly compared to the other.

She had no breath to run with them, she always remained behind, breathless, with a sense of vertigo that more than once had forced her to step aside and watch the other play from afar, to be left alone.

Yes. Be ignored by her playmate had hurt her, be reject had done more harm, being teased by the other made her cry, but that was a pain to which she had become accustomed quickly, because the real suffering was reached after, when she understood that even her heart was different. Odd.

She had a bag. A cute and little yellow bag. Inside this cute little bag there was a battery, just like that of the remote-controlled toy car. This battery was connected to a wire. And the wire was linked to a centrifugal pump transplanted into her chest to help her little weak heart beat.

She was sick, but her illness could not be cured. She, could not be cured.

It was a matter of time.

Days. Month. Years. No one could estimate how much she could survive. _If_, she could survive.

She was a ten years old with a mechanical heart, born prematurely, a survivor in the medical field with all the possibility of rejection and the estimates of the survival of a patient who underwent transplantation of an artificial heart.

Yet it was never a matter of luck, or a miracle, it was her will to live to have kept her up until now.

Only her will.

\- Frankenstein!

Her grip on the umbrella intensified in response to the voice she heard coming from the right, voice that she recognize and that instinctively made her flinch.

Because now the voice seemed to big, she too small, the street too dark.

_The world inside her too quiet._

She quickened her pace and only when the bus doors closed behind her with a hiss Lucile allowed herself to look back.

The angular face illuminated by the lamp post confirmed her suspicions about who had yelled one of her many nicknames.

Nicholas.

One of her old playmate. The most cruel.

It was him who give her the nickname of Frankeistein. Him to have tried to demagnetize her battery with a pair of magnets.

Always him the first to convince her to be wary of others, even her own peers.

Adults or children, it has never made much difference. She was a world apart, a world that none of them could and _want_ to understand, to accept.

The flash of headlight to her right convinced her to take a seat to the last spot, nose pressed to the window from which she recognized the sparkle of Sunstreaker's bodywork.

One of the passengers threw her a sidelong glance, but Lucile ignore him, preferring to wave her hand at him before lean against the backrest with a sigh.

She was tired, just as it was normal that she was, but Lucile had spent her life trying not to be afraid, or sad, or tired.

She had decided to not be a lot of things, for herself, but more importantly for her grandma, her old and tired grandma.

But no matter how strong it might have been her desire to be of help, to do something without the support of other, to be independent, there would always be things that she, alone, could not carry through.

She was a ten years old girl, after all, that was enough to limit greatly the things she could do without the help of someone, of an adult.

Yet Lucile had always tried to do her best. To be self-sufficient. To not give reason to complain about her.

As a child she had even limited her tantrum in the hope that perhaps things would change.

That everything would be fixed, that her family would be fixed, that she, would be fixed.

Silly, naïve little child.

Lucile knew she could not criticize her younger self for believing that the time will agree with her.

It was not normal. It was _cruel. _As if a child might have the power to change something. Someone.

But she had thought to do it. To be able to change her life. Her mother. Her father. Who was _supposed _to love and protect her.

How foolish she had been to not realize that the problem was not her. But _them._

It had always been them.

But how could she know? How could a little girl not believe to be responsible for the abandonment of her own parents?

_How?_

How could she know?

She couldn't. She just couldn't.

Too young to understand. Too naïve to grasp the unfairness of life. Too breakable to cushion the impact of the truth.

Yet she had never asked for much.

A family. That was all she wanted, what she knew she deserve.

Someone from whom to be loved unconditionally, a safe place in which hide, nothing more than that.

A silly request indeed, but it had been refused anyway, because her family had not been strong enough to love her. To love their own sick child.

Simply, to love.

They gave up on her. On their family. Something inconceivable for a kid, but the ease with which they had abandoned her, the simplicity of their action made her understand one important thing.

Love. Love was all that matter. What bound people. What was needed to start a family.

And they did not have it. Not for her. Not for anything.

Because love could heal the wounds of the heart.

It could make you strong. Brave. And happy.

All she wanted to be. All they weren't.

Brave to face the future.

Happy for the other.

And strong to protect what and who she loved, just as she was preparing to do for Sunstreaker.

* * *

It was cold outside. And windy.

Not that Lucile could feel it on her skin.

Sunstreaker would never have allowed her to take a cold, nor to wait the arrival of his brother at the mercy of the darkness in which they had been swallowed.

The road was almost completely dark if it had not been for a pair of street lamp and the little light of the bus stops, a few passing trucks to illuminate the car parked on the road side.

The taillights of a van launched a beam of light the small figure embraced by the soft leather of the seats, the matter hair to make her look like a little cat curled up on herself, a comparison that he had found to do often since he had known Lucile.

She was sleeping now, tired of the waiting that was proving to be longer than expected, but it was not his brother's fault.

His tardiness was caused in fact by the mistrust of the other Autobot, suspicious of Sidewsipe's desires to be a little on his own, as if the temper of Ironhide and the constant presence of the fleshling was not a good reason to seek a bit of space for himself.

But so it was. Thus, all that they could do was wait, and wait, and wait.

Yet, Lucile was not used to staying up so late, himself made sure to put her to sleep just after sunset, so as to make her rest as long as possible.

Because if human frailty had disgusted him, hers terrified him.

How could it be otherwise?

_Everything _on that slaggin planet could break Lucile, and since he had been able to recognize her physical limits Sunstreaker had made the whole world his enemy.

A rock. A branch. It does no matter to him, everything represented a danger for Lucile and her frail frame due to which he was in constant agitation.

His sensors analyzed incessantly her body, looking for possible flaws with a steady sense of uneasiness which made him unable to think or act clearly.

Yet, she never gave a sign of anxiety for her health, as if she had already accepted her fate a long time ago.

But he did not.

He could never.

\- _I'm almost there Sunny._

Sideswipe's voice was a blow from the blue, but even before he could start the engine to reach his brother halfway and hit him a shot of light not far away and the unmistakable screech of tires on the wet asphalt warned him that there would have been no need.

Among the things that he had always appreciated, but also criticized in his brother, the impetuosity had always been the main subject, a character trait that accompanied his every gesture and that even at the time he did not fail to show.

His gears hissed for the effort to make the iron grip around his shoulders less harmful for his wounded figure and especially for Lucile whom he had had time to close in his servo to protect her from the impact of their bodies, but the more he withdrew, the more his stupid brother strengthened the grip.

\- I'm so happy to see you Sunny!

\- Say that name again and I'll crush your helm – he roared, punching him with his free hand – and stop immediately this ridiculous display of affection! Release me! Now!

With a loud laugh Sideswipe decided to give him some space, taking the opportunity to observe his petulant older brother and make sure of his condition.

Except for some chipping, the deeps cut on his chest and the painting ruined, he was well, a little unkempt, but all in all he was ok.

It could have been worse. Really worse.

After all, his brother had been wounded by the bloody Starscream.

He was alone, weak, unable to defend himself, and at the mercy of the enemy, and in spite of everything he had remedied only a few dents.

Thus he was lucky, because those were really minor injuries than those to which they were accustomed to.

So, _finally_, he allowed himself a sigh of relief, smiling briefly for the irritated expression of his brother.

\- Nice work with the color there.

Confused by the comment, Sunstreaker looked down at the layers of tempera colors that Lucile had spread on his bruise to harmonize the color and make him look less messy, one of the many kindness which she had given him, a gesture of affection for which he found himself to raise on his brother an annoyed look.

\- She did her best.

The resentful tone of his brother led Sideswipe to raise an eyebrow in surprise, caught off guard by his sourness, but it was then that his processors worked out a thought that he, taken as he had been by the euphoria, had overshadowed.

\- Where is she? – he asked abruptly, his optics alight with curiosity and something else.

Maybe trepidation, or maybe not, but it was for that frantic reaction that Sunstreaker withdrew the servo to his chest, balancing his brother with scowling optics.

Then Sideswipe stopped struggling, observing in silence the defensive pose of his brother before frown in confusion.

\- What?

He took a step forward, intrigued by how his brother was wary for his every movement.

A step forward for him. A step back for his brother, a rambling dance from which the elder recovered first.

\- Enough! – Sunstreaker snapped - Don' . any. Closer.

\- Why? – the other complained, pouting.

\- Lucile should be handled with care and gentleness.

\- And what's the problem? No one is more delicate than Sideswipe, come on – and he held out his large and restless servos –give her to me.

\- No.

\- No?

\- No.

\- Don't be selfish Sunny, let me hold her!

\- It's not a matter of being selfish, brother, but forward-looking.

\- Are you implying that I am not careful enough to hold her?

\- I'm not implying it, I'm _stating_ it.

Outraged, Sideswipe was about to rebuke his brother when a tiny whimper brought both to lower their optics on the small ruffled head that had begun to move under their face plates.

Lucile rubbed her eyes with weak and tired movement, body aching from the position held too long.

Sleep made her reactions slow and uncoordinated, but when the cold of the night coming through the spaces between the metal fingers against which she rested her cheeks blew on her face, she became aware of many things.

The darkness that surrounded her. The height at which she was. The feeling of being watched by someone.

It was exactly that feeling to convince her to look up, finding two pairs of starry sky-blue eyes to observe her carefully.

\- She is tinier than I thought – was the first comment that Sideswipe let out in a whisper, approaching his helm to the little figure who stared at him in turn with huge dark eyes – hi, little one.

Blinking, Lucile tightened the grip around Sunstreaker's metal finger, surprised at how gentle his voice was.

Actually, she had imagined it just like that, soft and playful like a gentle breath on her cheeks.

Sideswipe smiled briefly to put her at ease, mindful of how humans were easily frightened by their height and their physical structure, but he was caught off guard by the hand she suddenly held out without fear, almost with wonder.

He stretched his out in reaction, allowing her to touch him freely, and when Lucile closed in her little palm his metal fingernail she raised on Sunstreaker a delighted look before lowering her eyes again and smile warmly at the surprised Autobot.

\- You're pretty – she chirped, amused by the way Sunstreaker's brother reacted to the sound of her voice.

Smile at him come naturally.

How could it be otherwise?

He was the same of Sunstreaker. Tall and with that showy color she knew to be an expression of their vibrant personality. Even their eyes were similar. Strong and fierce, but with a hidden kindness that graced their face.

Touch him seemed so odd now, yet incredibly nice, just a she had imagined.

Actually , she had imagined that moment so many times to still struggle to distinguish reality from fantasy, but the metal finger she was holding was true, as it was the hand that held her.

It was all true, and in her, the happiness to know the two of them finally together and the sadness of having to let them go fought each other to gain the upper hand.

But Lucile managed to find a middle way, opting for the melancholy to which she was accustomed.

In the meantime, with a shake of his broad shoulders Sideswipe seemed to come to his sense, all under the watchful scrutiny of Sunstreaker, not at all surprised by the slowness of his brother, just as it was not at all surprised to hear shortly after his unnatural silence his excited voice thought the common-link.

_\- I like her!_

_\- I can feel it, brother._

_\- She called me pretty._

_\- I know it, Sideswipe. I was there too._

_\- So what are we waiting for? Take her and let's get out of here._

As if it was that simple. Sunstreaker sighed internally, keeping an eye on Lucile who had began to rummage in her backpack.

_\- Scans her._

_\- What for?_

_\- Do as I say, brother._

Grumbling, Sideswipe did what his brother had ordered him to do, his sensors which analyzed the little one.

_As if he did not know how they are made. _

Unlike his brother, he had spent _a lot of_ cycles with humans. There was not much to know about them besides the fact that they were small and noisy, and although she seemed sweet like the voice he had heard through the link with his brother, despite the distance, what could be different about her? Why his brother-

Lucile gasped, frightened by the sudden withdrawal of the finger to which she was clinging, but Sunstreaker was fast enough to strengthen the grip to prevent her to losing balance and falling.

\- _What the pit are you doing? Are you glitching?_ \- Sunstreaker hissed in anger, fingers that closed protectively around the dazed figure of Lucile, anchored to his servo with both her hands, eyes wide for the fright fixed on the drawings that came out of her backpack for the sudden movement.

\- What's that?

She did not answer the questions, sure that Sideswipe was not addressing her, but when she felt his big fingers push aside her arms to exert a little pressure on her chest with his fingertip something told her that the question _was _addressed to her.

\- What's that?

The touch was not intended to hurt, but Lucile stiffened as if he had just hit her, a tension that Sideswipe did not take long to notice.

And in fact, he found himself troubled by the pain surfaced on her eyes, pulling back his servos while looking on the face of his brother the answer to her reaction, but Sunstreaker seemed tense as much or more than her.

Meanwhile, Lucile continued to remain silent, one of her hands slipped at chest height, fingers full of the fabric she instinctively grabbed seeking support.

_What's that?_

The question continued to reverberate in her mind, again and again, and the more she listened to it, the more the hidden meaning showed in her glossy eyes.

_He_ knew about her heart.

How or when she could not know, but the thought was enough to make her tremble.

The flash of pain darted in Sunstreaker's eyes was difficult for her to grasp with all that air to cover her face, but Sideswipe had _felt _the painful wince in their spark, a pull that shook every circuit of their processors.

A short but intense pain, that's what it was, something the icy and murderous Sunstreaker could not feel, actually, he could not feel anything according to the other. Nor pain. Nor sorrow. Yet, what dirtied his optics was unquestionably grief, because for those he loved it was easy to hurt him, so much easier than they thought.

The cold touch under her chin made her shiver, but Lucile let him bring her face upward to meet his sad gaze. Sunstreaker narrowed his optics when he caught the glint of tears in her eyes, closing his fingers around her tiny form for the piercing need to keep her with him, safe and sound.

Meanwhile, behind them Sideswipe stooped to pick up one of the tiny pieces of paper fallen to the ground, optics caught by those he knew to be drawings of him and his brother.

There were many, but in each of those he and Sunstreaker had a smile, something that from the beginning of the war they had lost.

Actually, they had lost much, and would continue to lose as long as there would be the need to fight, but even if it was in their nature, fight, they began to be tired of all that war, blood, and death.

All that pain.

There _had_ to be something else, and somehow, his brother had found a loophole to everything, the hope of something different, better.

A new beginning.

They could have it both. She could give it to them, as well as they could give it to her,_ all_ they had to do was give each other a second chance, they deserved it, they need it to start again.

Quietly, he joined his brother, optics fixed on the little one to whom he stretched the piece of paper without a word.

Lucile, who had followed his movements in silence, grabbed her own drawing with trembling fingers, curious about the meaning of that gesture.

With a nail, she began to trace the outline of the three figures portrayed hand in hand, a smile to appear on her face streaked with tears.

\- I did it for you, as a keepsake – she informed him, raising her eyes on them – it's yours – and she stretched out her hand once again, waiting for one of them to take it back, to allow each of them to say goodbye, but the immobility of both confused her, almost as they were not listening to her, but Lucile knew it was time for them and for her to go. Time was up.

\- Take it.

How many times had Sunsteaker seen that hand held out to him?

A hand that was never empty, never just a hand, because in that tiny palm there was always something for . Kindness. Love. There always had been something, even in that moment she was giving something, a memory, a reminder of what could have been another life, something that would have ended like all things were intended to do.

Because a day, maybe in a couple of orn, Lucile would be gone, so that little hand and all that he had found inside.

And what would be left of all that?

A drawing. A drawing, and empty space on his spark.

Too little. Far too little.

When Sunstreaker's giant hand closed gently around hers Lucile did not know how to interpret it, and unable to withdraw or to look away from him she just stood still, but even if the sudden whine of the gears had the power to frighten her, the grip around her prevented Lucile to get away.

Her heart began to beat faster, an effort that took her breath away while her eyes were closed for the flash of light and she curled up in a protective position, scared. _So scared_.

\- Lucile.

She narrowed her eyes when she recognized his voice above the whistle in her ear, a call to which for the first time she did not answer, lost in the darkness behind the eyelids that she still refused to open.

\- Lucile, open your eyes.

\- I'm scared – she managed to whisper, still disoriented – I'm scared.

\- There is nothing to be afraid of, little one.

Even Sideswipe's voice was gentle, almost warm-hearted, but there was something warm near her face, and she was afraid to find out what it was.

\- Open your eyes Lucile. Did you not trust me?

Her eyelids trembled a little at that world. Trust. Did she trust him? Did she trust Sunstreaker?

Light was the first thing she recognized. A tiny and bright globe of light that filled her eyes when she decided to listen to him.

It was then that the grip around her hand loosened, allowing her to back off a little and lean back on the metal fingers that as a railing prevented her from falling.

It took a little of time for her eyes to focus the odd light, but when she was able to define its border Lucile gasped in surprise, shocked.

\- That's -

\- Yes – Sunstreaker confirmed, pushing with his fingertips the globe of light a little closer to her – it's a shred of my, ours spark.

Instinctively she held out a hand, attracted by the warmth that it emanated, pausing a breath from it when the knowledge of what she was about to touch stopped her fingers from reaching it.

\- It's yours.

Sunstreaker frowned a little for the shocked expression of Lucile, her eyes wide and alight with disbelief.

\- Mine?

\- Yours.

\- I don't understand – she murmured, staring now at the shred with pure terror – I don't-

\- Do you not want it? – Sunstreaker asked her, his voice grave and almost wounded.

What was he asking her exactly?

Her eyes went back for a moment on his face, looking for an answer that Lucile could not find, but when she found none there either she looked back at the shard with stiffness.

\- It must be kept safe.

\- Indeed, it must be, little one, but this is not the point. What my brother and I are giving to you is a bond.

A second chance.

Sideswipe welcomed the confusion on her face with a playful smile, one of his fingers back to tap gently her little chest.

\- How you feel about us, little one?

\- I love you – was the clear reply she gave him, without a shadow of hesitation, so much so that he found himself to stare.

\- But you don't know me – Sideswipe pointed out – how could you love me too?

\- Because you two have the same soul, and that is what I love about Sunstrekaer, thus, about you too.

The silence that followed her explanation was filled with words she could not hear, but when Sunstreaker returned to push the shred to her Lucile let it slip in her fingers.

A heat wave flowed her face and body, a bubble of sweet warmth which soon turned into a searing sensation from which she drew back with a shudder.

\- Take it – Sunstreaker insisted, pushing it again, but Lucile stepped back a little, pressing against the cool finger.

\- It's too hot – she complained, her hand resting at chest height – and it hurts.

\- It can fix your heart.

\- Nothing can fix my heart.

It was true.

Nothing can fix her heart, not even the travel in which her grandmother hoped to find some new treatment.

She was going to die soon or later, and no one could do anything about it_. No one._

Lucile had accepted it for some time now, and the last thing she wanted was to be fooled again.

It had been difficult enough know to have no hope, and accept it, thus she did not need any more pain.

No. No more pain.

\- Maybe it can, maybe it can't, little one. But it's a chance.

\- It can kill me?

\- You'll not die – was the fierce claim of Sunstreaker, a ferocity driven by the desperation Lucile had seen too many times in her own eyes and on Lucrecia's face.

\- You are a human. We are Cybertronian. This alone is a valid reason for which things could go wrong.

So it can kill her.

\- Nothing will go wrong. In the best case you will free yourself by that fleshing shell, and you will live with us as creators.

Creators. Parents.

She would have had parents. They _wanted_ to be her parents.

It was enough the thought to bring tears to her eyes.

It would have been nice to have parents, heal and be free, _really nice_, but Lucile was too accustomed to take into account the variables to afford to daydream too much.

Her grandma. The possibility of dying. There were so much to consider, but what about her?

What about what _she _wanted?

How much time had she passed to pretend to be an adult?

How long had she ceased to behave like a little girl, like a _child_?

Lucile had spent so much time worrying about how other might feel toward her condition to have forgotten what it meant to think about how_ she_ feel.

_What about her?_

The shred throw a glow on her face when Lucile grabbed it with trembling fingers, her whole body annoyed for the unnatural influx of heat that reddened her cheeks.

It burned. It burned so much to tear her a cry of pain, but she did not loosen the grip, instead she strengthened it.

Her heart seemed to burst, her arms and legs collapsed, and her eyes could not longer stand the light, so much so that she closed them with a little moan.

At one point she even thought she could almost reach out and touch the uneasiness of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, their concern for her.

It was a strange feeling to be able to sense them in that way, but somehow it made her feel linked to both.

Was that the bond they were talking about?

Was that her second chance?

Lucile didn't know it, as she didn't know if she would make it, if she would die, if something would change, if she, could change. No one could know.

It was just as Sideswipe had said.

A chance. Nothing more than that. A leap in the dark that she was not afraid to make, because it was not the time to be afraid, to waver.

It was time to believe and hope, and finally, to give herself a chance.

* * *

**As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next, there will a leap forward in time, so get ready!**

**I'd love to know what you think about the chapters, or the story in general. Once again, thanks for reading!**


	6. 6 - A fallen hero's theme

A living being should not seek the company of the dead.

Whatever the reason. Whatever the need that led to do so, no one should prefer the silence unanswered to the chatter of those who had still a voice to reply.

It would be like choosing death over life, something too sad and too wrong to understand, _to accept_, but you could not accept what you don't know.

That was what Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobot, repeated to himself whenever his pedes carried him to the rusty and rickety doors of Diego Garcia's storage of the scarp.

How? He did not care to find out.

When? He did not bother to remember.

Why? He had stopped to wonder long before.

All he knew was that one day, which exactly he didn't remind, he had felt the need to get away.

From what? The world maybe. Or, in all honestly, from himself, but now he was digressing.

He wanted to get away, and to get away you need to move.

So, one day, he found himself walking without a destination.

Even if he had one, it would not matter anyway.

His pursuer was, after all, himself, and where he went his chaser would be there. Always. With him.

Just to remind him how pathetic was his attempt to escape from reality. _From his life. _

Yet, this obviousness had not slowed his pedes, weakened his wish to get away, to escape from the losses, the defeats that he was struggling to stanch.

And it was in his restless wandering, in his senseless breakaway that he had discovered where Captain Lennox and his men threw the scarp of their vehicles that for him, with time, had taken on the appearances of their fallen, of those whom _he_ was not able to save.

It was a small shed. Dirty. Dark and disturbing, but quiet and isolated.

A safe point.

His, safe point.

A place where to think, listen to the silence, take his head in his servos, close his optics and forget everything, even his name.

_Especially,_ his name.

It was a way to log out. To get lost. A habit, which, however, with the passing of time, he had begun to abuse too often.

Who could blame him anyway?

No one knew about his attempt to escape from his role_, _and he would have made sure that no one knew.

_Never._

Because they would not understand, would not accept that even _he_ wanted to be free to be tired and sorrowful.

It would be wrong.

It would have weakened their warrior spirit to know that their leader could waver.

So he hid himself. His misery. His sadness. His weakness. So that no one could be affected by it.

By his mistake.

It was enough to go, sat in the dark and pretended to be alright, that he did not want anything more that an illusion.

It was not in his place wanting more anyway.

Since he was a youngling, he had never demanded anything for himself.

_Just for him._

It would be egoistic, and he could not be egoistic, or tired, or everything else.

Give up his need, his desire, was a duty, the task of a leader, but even a leader need a place to rest his mind, so, even in his quest for a place to empty himself of his failing, he had to take into account the need to keep a low profile, not demanding anything more than a little, dirty, gloomy shed.

That would be enough, for him.

And it had been so for a very long, long time, however, something was beginning to get out of hand, since _that day, _when his thoughts had become more somber. More Dark. Disturbing and wrong.

_Inappropriate._

Think about death so often was already wrong, but linger in what was his taste, his scent, his sound, that, that was dreadful.

And yet, he could not help it. As far wrong. As far inappropriate. He could not restrain his thoughts, especially when he was in his hideout, where no one would judge him, would condemn him.

There he was free to think, to be himself.

Not Optimus Prime, but an ordinary cybertronian who could indulge himself in the darkness of his thoughts.

But even so, death should not have a special description, or a specific color, a particular sound.

It was the death, after all, nothing to describe with complicated word.

Nothing more than a brief and painful instant or a flash that throw everything in the dark.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Yet, since he had been dead for a while, Optimus Prime had the competence to give it one since he was, perhaps, the only creature who had been able to return from it.

Always the model.

_Always the example._

So. A color.

Black. Pitch Black. And as for the sound. Heavy silence. Horrible indeed, but for him it was _peaceful. _

Almost pleasing.

But could death be really describe as pleasing? From which point of view?

From his, as it seemed.

Not that he could tell someone.

A Prime could not have thoughts so obscure. So _disturbing._

Not the one who protected the life.

Not the _Lord of Light_.

Death was no pleasing, it was ignoble, often sad and frightening, but never, _never_ pleasant, under no circumstance.

And yet, even now, insofar as Optimus Prime repeated incessantly to himself that litany in the hope that no one could hear the distorted sound of his gloomy thoughts, the regret of being alive again returned to remind him what he had left behind, from _what_ Sam and the Autobot had ripped him.

Proper rest.

A need. A hidden and craved desire harbored since he had killed for the first time someone of his own race.

One of many of which would come. _Too _many to recall, but he remembered.

He remembered their names. Their features. Even of what color were their eyes before offline.

Optimus Prime had never forgotten.

Every life that he had torn in the name of freedom had dug a hole in his spark, stains that dirtied his glowing eyes and weighed his voice.

Because time had made him wiser and stronger, but even more tired. _Too_ tired.

Tired of the war of which he had forgotten the beginning, lost as it was in an old and buried era.

Tired of the dead that even after so many losses were still difficult to accept, even if they were for a good case.

For freedom.

It had become too much. Just too much.

Therefore, when death had won him, when his spark gave away, he had felt free. _Really _free.

Free from the weight of his name, of his position, of his duty.

Simply, _free._

Because when Optimus Prime, the new and last Lord of Light, the leader of the Autobot had failed, he had become just a tired and broken soul for which it was finally time to rest.

How silly. As if he_ could_ rest.

He was a Prime. He was a descendant of a god. He had no right to rest, _to be dead_, and the proof of how foolish was the thought to have finished his duty was in his own chest and had the hard and wise voice of his ancestors.

He had lingered in death, and when that awareness had turned into shame Optimus Prime had returned to take his place as leader of the Autobots.

It was just as his mentor Sentinel Prime had said once.

"The task of a Prime would never end.

In his name there would have been many sacrifices, among the Autobot, but one of them could be always replaced, a Prime, could be not_."_

Another weight. Another stain on his sparks. Another death to bear.

But no one would know anything about his distress.

He was a leader.

He _was_ a Prime, and as such he could never show weakness or selfish desire.

His role, his status required determination and sharpness of mind, and it mattered little that the mind was jaded or damaged, he had to be an example.

And he would have been so, yes, he would, but in a while, the time to pick up the pace and clean up the bitterness from his face.

_At least that._

But, apparently, he was not even allowed that much.

The deep voice of Ironhide thought the comm-link followed the cawing of the rickety door from which he stood with slow and mechanical motions, his optics shadowed by the stiffness that the sunlight disguised as a tricky game of lights once he came out of his safe point.

Then he straightened his hunched posture before entering the hangar, relaxing the fingers clenched into fist to look relaxed. _Alright._

\- Where?

His voice was clear and firm, just as always, as required for the situation, but there was still the plaintive sound of his dark thoughts to make it waver a little, a cause of shame for himself and his leading position.

With icy anger Optimus Prime hid behind his back the nervous and twitching of his fingers, disguising the fragility of his self- control with a posture which expressed respect and gravity, his shadow less disturbing with the light filtering behind him, so to bathing himself in the sun and drive away the shadows of a path that for the moment he _had_ to leave behind.

And that was not a fortuity.

Nothing was with him.

Every action. Every word was selected with care.

He was not spontaneous, but calculator. He had to be.

Because miscalculate was not among his options, and to make no mistake, nothing had to be left to the chance, even his feelings.

Unfailing. That's how he should be, as he would be if only his bitterness and weariness would stop torturing him, making him flinch. But he could not be discovered. Not him. Not his shameful weakness.

He could not afford it.

Therefore, even before one of his subordinates could offer themselves for the missions it was he himself who decided to go. Alone.

Except for a few indecisive glances, no one dared to complain. How could they?

After all, he was the leader. He was the wisest and strongest among them.

His word was law. He, was the law.

So, why oppose?

He was Optimus Prime.

The kind, faultless and rightful leader of the Autobot, no one more than him could know what was the best thing to do.

Yes. No one.

When the door of the helicopter opened for him, Optimus Prime did not stop to hold his head high.

He continued to maintain a straight posture, the shoulder squared, his aspect severe and firm, but when the door closed behind his rigid back and before the proud eyes of his subordinates the darkness returned to swallow him and his faceplates.

And then, only then all falls apart.

His shoulders sagged. His eyes darkened. His head fell into his opened servos.

And the silence around him was filled with the somber thoughts that had ripped him a grim smile, but the mask had saved him from the misery, the last wall behind which hide the shame of his yielding.

But now he could linger in his sorrow for a while.

A bit.

That was all he could ask, demand, have.

A bit of time, of rest, of quietness.

Of everything.

* * *

It was well known that live in small towns meant having to take into account a lot of disadvantages.

The absolute lack of privacy, for example.

Or the annoying distrust of the locals toward their own neighbors.

And how to forget the most striking features of all.

The constant and insensitive urge to gossip at the expense of other's feelings.

Clichés, maybe, but as such they were based on established facts.

Therefore, as a small town, even Bear Creek had clichés, and yet, its, were different in some way.

Because in its case it was not a figure of speech, or the abuse of an adjective used to describe_ anything _that might be considered relatively small size, it was a matter of fact.

And, insofar as it might seem strange, the adjective was even _exaggerated._

But it could not be otherwise given that, according to the last census, the tiny Texan city counted 390 people.

Yes. 390 people. Not one more. Not one less.

So, a small town.

A really,_ really _small town, a tiny dot on the map, almost a stain on it, a feature from which it was derived an extreme version of what were considered clichés of any small town.

In Bear Creek, therefore, the gossips were not a mere hobby of the old ladies, but they represented the very local newspapers, where the journalist could be anyone, from the child playing on the edge of the road to the owner of the grocery store, and as every respectful newspaper, there was even a hot topic, a hot potato that, in passing from hand to hand, took different form and colors.

In this case, the hot potato of Bear Creek bore the name of Cruz.

A Spanish surname, nothing more banal having regards the many immigrants that lived in the United States, but except for the plain surname there was nothing trivial in the two brothers who carried the name, quite the opposite actually.

Stunning. They were both. And rich. Really,_ really_ rich. Appreciable quality indeed, especially for the young ladies, but none of them had ever dared to approach them, and the reasons were multiple.

To begin with they were intimidating. Really, intimidating.

Because they were stunning and beautiful, yes, but of a disturbing beauty.

Moreover, they were too high, too imposing, too good-looking, in a nutshell, they were _too much_, especially for a little city such as that.

And yet, it was enough to look away before being caught staring at the two to keep them from irritating the twins.

And here it came another reason.

Their personality suck.

Cold. Nasty and with a bad mouth.

They spat venom, instead of words. Kindness was not in their option, even with women or kids.

Unapproachable, they had been so since they had moved in Bear Creek a year ago, and since then nothing had changed.

However, as it might seem absurd, those scary features were not the only ones to make the locals to gossip about them, or at least, not just those.

Because there was a more disturbing aspect about the twin brothers, and it wore a woman's name.

Lucile.

A gentle and sweet name, the source of envy for all the young ladies of Bear Creek, or at least it was at the beginning, when the deep affection with which the brothers pronounced her name had unleashed their jealousy and many conjectures.

Like how she could be.

Tall or petite?

Blond or brunette?

Beautiful or just cute?

Those were the question that every woman of Bear creek exchanged between them to quench the burning curiosity about who had the power to soften the pretty but disturbing eyes of the twins, but the long-sought answer had torn them a deep blush and some unintelligible whisper while the rest merely held their breath.

A kid.

_Their_ beloved kid.

That was the identity of the woman, or better, of the little girl to whom many of them had sent a curse for almost half of the year.

A source of shame, the reason why all the young woman in the grocery store lowered their eyes on the floor once they recognized the indistinguishable profiles of the two brothers behind the glass door of the store.

Suddenly, the air seemed to tremble after their every step, almost as the heels of their boots would generate small earthquakes able to bend their knees while the room seemed to get smaller and smaller as the approached the counter of sweets.

\- A chocolate cake.

With a start, Emily Smith, the sixteen years old daughter of the grocery store owner looked up, following the deep and charming voice of the elder of the twins.

How did she know?

Well, because, though identical, their personality had different shades.

For example, the one who had spoken to her, rudely moreover, but she was too embarrassed to be offended, was icily elegant and sharp while the other who was now staring at the shop window was more cunning and mischievous.

\- Only one? – she heard him ask, a sulky smile on his beautiful face from which she quickly looked away - Don't be stingy Sunny. It' Lucile birthday, she deserves more than a stupid cake. We take them all.

\- We can't – was the cold and firm reply of his twin, some dark clock to hide the hard gaze that more than once had shaken their knees.

\- Why not? – the other asked again, his tone plaintive as that of a little child.

\- Because – and his pause seemed to freeze the air so glacial was his voice – It's not healthy to eat too much sweets.

The way she saw the youngest straighten his back tore Emily a gasp a surprise, but neither of them paid any attention to her alarmed face or the disapproving looks of the others, almost as they did not exist.

And perhaps it was so, because beside themselves and their kid they did not seem to care about anything else.

The city could have gone up in flames, but as long as they were alright, they would not bat an eyelid.

An impression shared by everyone in that city.

\- I just want to spoil my sparkling. Can't I?

\- She is my sparkling too, brother, so if your idea of spoil her mean to give Lucile a stomach ache for an indigestion of sweets, then no, you can't spoil her.

\- He is right – Emily stuttered, eyes back to peek at them, and that time she could not escape from the enchanting and yet creepy glittering of their sparkling blue eyes.

A mistake.

Because when the youngest become aware of her insistent gaze, he turned the smile into a grimace.

\- I did not ask for your slaggin opinion, fleshy.

Again with that strange nickname.

Emily refrained herself to asking for help, no one would help her anyway.

They all were too scared of them to intervene, but to keep herself from passing out, she had to distract them in some way.

\- I- she tried to reply, holding the tremor in her voice, but there was something dangerous, in them, and in the wicked glint of those terrific eyes.

Then she looked away to gain time, her hands that under the counter huddled themselves nervously, with her eyes wandering to find a way to divert their attention, and since nothing in the store could help, Emily looked out from the window, smiling nervously before wetting her lips and speak.

\- It… it looks like it will rain today.

_Stupid._

Like the brothers could be_ really_ interested in the weather, and yet, with her deep surprise, Emily saw the two twins follow her gaze in a moment of confusion before something in their behavior seemed to change.

No one dared to breath when they stormed out of the store in a hurry, climbing on their luxurious Italian car and vanish as suddenly as they had come, but when they become a stain on the horizon Emily Smith released her breath, her trembling hands running in her long red hair.

\- Are you okay dear?

Emily smiled kindly to the old lady, nodding weakly before taking a few breaths and lift her eyes to the sky where she had found his savior, the blurry shape of a black cloud advancing toward the city, but to her great surprise, all she found was a clear and neat sky.

No cloud.

No sign of a coming storm.

* * *

When his back crashed harshly against the ground, Optimus Prime squeezed his optics shut to cut off the flickering of the world above him, while his processors elaborated the damage suffered as a result of the fall, little, compared to what others would have suffered in his place, but while his body was strong enough to react to the trauma, his mind was not.

Because, if it had been so, then he would be back up shortly after the impact to pursue the enemy instead of remain motionless, his body forsaken on the scented ground and his limbs lazily lying to the sides.

But it was not a matter of not being able to do, but of not _want _to do, since it was his own will instead of his capacity to keep him from resume the hunt.

Despicable on his part, but it was the very decision to go there alone to be despicable.

His, in fact, was not an act of bravery, but of cowardice.

And he should pay for it.

_For being a coward._

That was the reason why the pain in his chest was rightful.

He had not the right to complain about it, anyhow, it was his own fault for having let down his guard.

So the pain was rightful. His sorrow, was rightful.

It was not in his place have to complain about something anyway.

He had no right to pity himself, his misery, his prohibition to _feel._

And now, now there was no greatness in him.

No pride. No bravery. No power.

Nothing of value.

He was weak, just like were his thoughts. Just like were his mind and his optics, therefore he kept them closed to not see how he had reduced himself, how _low_ he had arrived.

Because once again, he had sought the death. He had sought the self-destruction.

He had longed for it, he had desired it, and for a moment, he had it.

A moment.

An illusion.

He had not able to afford more than that before coming to his senses.

Before the shame followed the blow he had _allowed_ to his enemy.

Just one blow.

Enough to get the _impression _to die.

_Shameful._

It did not seem that he could feel nothing but shame now.

His sparks cried for his deceitfulness. For his lies.

Because, insofar as he tried to convince himself and the world around him, he was not fine, he was not fine for a very long time.

But he _had_ to be so.

He had to be so many things for others, but not for himself.

Never, for himself.

He was broken, so broken to have forgotten what pieces should be fixed first, _if_, he should be fixed.

There were too many pieces. Too many cracks. Too much to recompose.

And in any case, he did not have the time to do it.

_To help himself_.

He could only stand still in the hope that doing so nothing could go into pieces.

But the world would not wait for him just as his enemy would not wait for his wounds to heal.

Time waits for no one. Neither for the leader of the Autobot.

The hiss of his joint preceded the tension of his left arm while the sword that he had waved blindly towards the suspicious rustling struggled to find something to cut, but it was difficult to focus on the enemy given the fatigue of his processors.

The world kept spinning around him, and fall was the only thing he was able to do.

Fall and rise. Fall and rise.

It was like a sad song, a fallen hero's theme.

And maybe he was so.

Fallen. Lost. But not a hero. Not at that time, too weak even to rise up again like one would do.

Yet, once again, his sense of duty was stronger than his fear, _more _important than his misery, and when he decided to face his humiliating reflection through the eyes of his opposer Optimus Prime was not prepared for what he found.

_What he felt. _

A grip.

A gentle but firm grip around his whole shape, around his _very soul_.

A grip that stopped everything.

The spinning. The fall. The fear. The whisper of death.

In a blink of tired optics, everything seemed to freeze.

The time. The world. The violent rattle of his thoughts.

Everything. Until nothing remained. Only the silence.

And yet, not a disturbing, fearful and wrong silence.

Just, _silence._

A breakaway from a world that fed on his darkness, on his fear, on _him_, the gateway that he found in the strange eyes that held him upright.

Big, fearless and inquisitive eyes that the curious creature before him narrowed a little, giving him the impression that his vital space had shrunk in turn, uncontrolled response that were repeated each time, for each move.

A blink of her long black lashes.

A strangled breath for him.

To her every act his body betrayed the fear, the uneasiness of not knowing, of not understand what was going on.

Who she was.

How she seemed to be looking at him.

The _real_ him.

The reason why he felt so vulnerable, so helpless, in front of her. Of those eyes.

An intense and deep gaze that seemed to read his mind, discover his secret, reveal his weakness.

Detect his deception. His lies. Taking off the mask of the fallen hero to leave him with nothing.

Nothing to prize. Nothing to value. Nothing to hold.

Empty handed.

A feeling of emptiness, of _failure,_ for which his servos reacted clutching the hilt of the sword, filling him with _something_, anything that was not _that _feeling of nothingness.

Even the illusion was fine.

Yes. Anything, but not that.

_Not that._

He begged for it with the desperate voice of his spark, the lament of those who did not want to remember, _he_ did not want to remember _what _lay beneath his stern expression, his kind voice. His disguise of a perfect leader.

Because he knew.

_He knew it too well._

The darkness.

The selfishness.

The unkindness of which he would have been able if he had allowed himself to _be_.

To _feel._

So there was really no need to remind him.

_No need._

But it was just his mind to speak, to ask for it.

Not his trembling voice. Not his sorrowful optics.

Only, his mind.

But that, that seemed to be enough, for her.

Because, all of sudden, the grip around him loosened, softened, and the strength that earlier had threatened to make him go to pieces had begun to raise, instead to push down.

A change of behavior that also her eyes had, becoming tender, kind and, somehow, even understanding.

Almost as she had understood him.

As she also _knew._

And it was then something chance.

The world around him, changed.

The air became cleaner. The land softer. The fear and confusion less strong. Less disturbing.

He, become lighter, the weight of the burden on his shoulders gone somewhere, maybe in the hand that she seemed to have closed protectively around his spark, to keep it safe.

To make him rest.

Dazed, Optimus Prime watched in astonished silence her relaxed face, trying to unravel the mystery of everything.

Of her.

Of him, of that feeling of safety. Almost, almost as he had finally come home, as the whole universe concentrated before him, in her whole being, in those strange eyes where there was no pain, no grief, no sorrow, no fear.

_Just, _her and the safety.

The silence.

_His sparkmate._

The awareness came with astonishment. The astonishment with the awe.

And the awe with the fear of what he had learned, the disgust for what he was going to do, the _danger_ that she represented for _his _world.

His duty.

The sword fell with a thud when he threw it angrily to the side, the horror and the fear to darken his optics while, trembling, he covered his faceplates with his servos in shame, to silence the cry of his spark that had jumped, shiver and then swell of surprise mixed to wonder before it was struck with horror once again.

_His sparkmate._

He had tried to kill his sparkmate.

_Sick._

He was going to be sick. To die for the grief.

His arms yielded as he leaned forward, his helm clutched angrily into his fingers while the shadows returned to swallow him once he_ forced _himself to look away, to let go of the grip of her eyes on his spark.

An illusion.

He could not afford anything more.

It would be enough for him.

Just an illusion.

He could not afford her. Deserve her.

_Accept her existence. _

It was not in his place want something for himself, and a sparkmate, that was too much.

A bond, was too much.

He couldn't.

He shouldn't.

_And yet_, insofar as he refuses to acknowledge the frightening but moving discovery, something inside him, the angry voice of his selfishness reminded him _how_ unthinkable and wrong was refused that chance.

_His _chance.

Something that would never come back.

Because no Cybertronian could refuse a bond_, give up_ a sparkmate.

Refuse his existence.

They were _so_ rare, _so_ precious that the thought of give up one of them was almost a sin, like inflict harm upon himself, because they were a missing part of their sparks.

_Of themselves._

So _how_ was possible refuse _themselves, _especially when the chance to find _it_, to recognize_ it_, to feel _it, _were so few.

Inexistent.

After all, the universe was _so vast_. Endless.

How _many_ could be the possibility of finding _it,_ to cross their path?

It would be pass _Vorn_ before having the chance to find it, as it could have passed the eternity without knowing it.

Love, it.

One chance.

Their race had only one chance to love who humans called soulmate. The sparkmate.

And he had found it, he had felt _it_, even if by mistake, by a mere coincidence.

Because he had not searched for it, he had not hoped for it, and yet, he had it, _instead of the death._

He had found the love instead of death.

A breath of clear air instead of a heavy gasp.

And now, _now_ he was going to refuse it.

To deny it, just as his duty required.

As he _must_ do.

The thought was so painful and maddening to make him cringe, but he stood still, with his helm on his servos and his optics shut to the world and to those eyes.

To his breakaway.

\- Do you need help?

_What a gentle voice._

Optimus Prime was ashamed of himself, of his thought, of his very being, but he let himself be led by the caress that her voice gave to his spark, a kind and soft squeeze for which he loosened the grip around his helm to look up once again.

To find her, once again.

To linger in something that could help him.

Heal and save him from his misery.

A sheltered and mild world that he found a whisper away from him.

Close. So close to throw him into a panic.

With a jolt he moved away quickly, holding back his breath once he realized what he had done, how hurtful could be his act.

But rather than flinch for his abrupt movement, he saw her advance, quietly, until her feet were one step away from his servos lying on the ground.

\- Are you afraid of me? – was the calm question she addressed to him, her presence strong and imposing like as if the world had closed behind her back.

He felt her.

The gentle breath over his helm.

The strong but mild weight of her gaze on him.

The warmth of a body that for the first time, with the corner of the eye fixed on the ground, he allowed himself to analyze without the magnetizing strength of her eyes to demand his attention.

Small.

She was small. And yet, bigger than a human being.

If he had been upright, she would have easily arrived to his waist with her head, a height that made her more akin to their race and therefore hard to label.

Because, if her height make her more like a cybertronian, the soft and sunburn skin that covered her bone structure undoubtedly made her human.

Even the long, black and thick hair that stroked the side of his helm when she bent to him were human.

Puzzling, and full of contradiction.

But even so, he just stood still for fear that she might vanish, _leave_, if ever he had moved, while his restless eyes drank and memorized characteristic that made her more and more strange, but, somehow, even more striking.

Lovely. For him.

\- There is no reason for you to fear me – she assured him, once again her tone, smooth and calm, almost as she could feel the noise of his nervous thoughts. Of his doubts.

But there was something else to get on his nerves, something far more worrying and frightening.

The desire to touch her.

Yes. He wanted to touch her, to let the feeling go, but above all, he wanted to _make sure_ of her presence.

Because he had spent so much time to _invent_ his own feelings, his fears, the thing to keep and let go, that he was no longer be able to discern what was real and what was not.

What to keep and what let go, for real.

But when she touched him, when the unexpected warmth on his left arm was recorded and _embraced _by his processors, he had his answer.

Real.

She was real.

It was _all_ real.

The warmth of the skin resting on the cold shelves of his armor.

The softness of the fingers closed gently around his shoulder.

Even the melodic pulse of the energon inside her veins.

_Inside her spark._

That last thought, that last _discovery_ was so astonishing to freeze him.

One of his kind. She was one of his kind.

A sparkling.

Troubled by the thought and by what it involved, Optimus Prime raised once again his optics from the hand on his left arm to her face, his optics quivering under the anxiety that chocked him, and when he found those eyes, the grip came back to give him silence and breath.

Once again, he felt light, and sheltered.

Accepted.

It was like being embraced from something soft and gentle, a hold in which where rest, and fall did not seem so wrong now.

Let himself go, did not seem so wrong. It seemed almost _fair._ So easy, if it was done in that arms.

Long, slender and trustworthy.

Able to catch and to endure any weight.

Even _his._

\- Do you need help? – she asked again, but this time Optimus, who now looked her in the eyes, noticed something that shocked him.

Her pink lips.

Her pink lips hadn't moved.

She had talked. But her lips were still. He was sure of that.

He had heard her gentle voice, it had reached his spark, every nerve of his processors, and yet, her lips hadn't moved.

But then, something else called his attention.

_Her eyes. _

Her strong eyes were strange, but enchanting.

They were black, deep black, but her pupil, just like the rest was drowned in the energon that with his dazzling blue color made difficult to hold her gaze for too long.

Too bright, and yet, beautiful.

A cybertronian peculiarity in a human shape.

A sparkling, but with the appearance of human.

Different, and yet, fascinating.

\- You are hurt.

Amazed and still a little surprised in not seeing her lips moving to talk, he softened immediately his optics when her worried tone reflected the tender light in her eyes lowered to his side, where the deep scratch exposed wires and a lump of clotted energon.

He saw her hesitate with the gaze on the scratch, her left hand unconsciously approached to the wound, a restrained touch which continue to remain undone until she asked him the permission to touch him.

The astonishment to her request prevented him to respond to that strange question.

To that unexpected show of kindness.

Because she had been so.

Kind. And strangely calm and understanding, almost as she was used to war wound, to_ their_ war wound, and to his appearance.

_To stay near a Cybertronian. _

\- It's tolerable – he replied, softening unconsciously his voice while talking to her.

The relief on her lovely face was immediate, and when he saw her smile gently at him something beneath his armor trembled.

_He_, trembled.

His lips twitched for the gentle smile that softened his features, an unexpected warmth to wrap his whole form as if there had been an explosion inside his gears, but it was only joy, and something else.

_Embarrassment._

He was embarrassed for her concern, her intense gaze.

Embarrassed, just like a youngling would have been, and yet, anyhow, it was not shameful or wrong.

It was, it was almost refreshing.

Yes._ Refreshing_.

Since when he had not felt that way?

But, more importantly,_ had_ he felt that way before?

He did not remember, or maybe, he did not want to.

Because it was too sad.

Him and his memories were too sad to remind. There was nothing nice to remember anyway.

But now, before him, there was something beautiful, something nice.

Maybe the first beautiful thing that he had never had, miserable, truly, because before him there was a stranger, an enchanting and odd being who was staring at him as perhaps no one had ever wanted or had reason to do.

_As if he could need something._

He didn't need help, he was the one to give it to the other, not the opposite.

He was Optimus Prime, after all.

But now, she did not look at him like Optimus Prime, or like the leader of the Autobot.

She looked at him just, like, just like a stranger would look at another stranger.

Without prejudice, desire to hurt, admiration to repay, answer to give.

It was the opposite, because _he_ had been the one to find it.

An answer. That of lifetime.

All that?

Was _all that_ what he had to expect from his life?

Fight and be in charge?

All that?

_No._ There was something more, something better for him, and not an illusion, not a mere thought, but something _real_, something concrete to _grasp _and keep with him_, _just like he was going to do in awe, but when Optimus Prime held out his servo to touch that smiling face with emotion.

When his metal fingertips brushed the long dark locks of her hair, the time returned to run, the world to spin, his duty to catch him.

_Again._

The tree came down with the roar of a thunder, a storm of leaves and rubble to blow above the narrow way that Strarscream opened with a blast, his right arm that as a blade beheaded tree and whatever went into his path.

One shot.

One thud.

Just like dominoes.

Pieces that would eventually topple him too.

_And her._

A thought for which, with a guttural hiss, Optimus Prime raised his sword to be ready for the blow and block the way to his world, his gaze once again hard and fierce, and maybe, for the first time, even _cruel._

Wicked.

But when the Decepticons aimed his crimson eyes towards him, when his sword was ready to pierce his chest without mercy, a soft touch on his arm convinced him to lower the gaze and hold back the rage.

With a delicate finger pressed to her lips in a gesture for silence, the strange creature invited him to keep quiet while her small hand wrapped his arm protectively, as if she wanted to protect them.

_Him._

It only remained to decide whether to let her or not, if follow the processor or the spark, while knowing that it was is duty to protect.

Protect. _Not_ be protected.

And yet, when Starscream's crimson eyes rose on him, when it was time to decide to which voice to listen, Optimus Prime remained motionless and silent, just as she soundlessly asked him to do.

Unprepared.

Undecided.

Emotional. Fort the first time.

A hesitation for which he was repaid with something unexpected.

_Nothing._

Because Starscream stood in silence, with his swords so close to his throat to transfer the pulse of the energon to the weapon, while his optics wandered around as he was searching for something.

_As if he could not see him._

Optimus stood still, waiting for something, anything, but nothingness was all he had before the sudden roar of an engine led both to raise their optics to the sky, surprised.

But if Starscream hastened to retire with a growl before the helicopter of the NEST could spot him, vanishing among the three, Optimus kept looking to the sky, his audio receptors buzzing with the calls of Captain Lennox and his subordinates to which he did not bother to answer, simply remaining motionless, in silence, the shade of three to hide the enigmatic glint of his optic.

\- Come with me.

Instinctively, his helm followed the gentle sound, and he found her, her eyes, the grip.

The safety.

The silence.

The only voice to which he decided to respond.

To listen to.

\- I'll take you somewhere safe. – he heard her say, the hold on his arm, gentle and relaxed, as to leave him a way to escape, _to give him the chance to choose._

Something he was not allowed to do.

Choose.

He _must_. He _had._

He could not choose, and yet, she was offering him everything he wanted but did not have the right to have.

It was up to him.

To let himself go.

To let himself fall.

Fall or rise? Fall or rise?

A song that this time had the voice of his conscience, the one that, maybe, described him better.

Fall or raise. Fall and rise. A conjunction to distinguish them. A call to respond.

Which one, was the question Optimus Prime asked himself, again and again, the doubt and the flutter of his spark to act as a time for the countdown.

Fall or rise?

It would be so easy to let that hand go, to let that chance slip away.

_No one would know except for him._

And even if forget was impossible, he could _pretend_ to forget it, to forget her, to forget his chance.

He could pretend to fine.

Yes. He _could_.

But as he said that to himself, as he repeated it with much more force, his gaze continued to remain low, his back turned, the voices unheard.

His world in the starry eyes of a stranger.

Fall or rise?

It was his body to respond.

His whole being to betray him, his grief, his need of love, of freedom.

And his right to be tired. Sorrowful. And dark.

To be too weak to rise once again.

So fall or rise?

Fall.

Fall, over and over again, if her arms would have catched him.

* * *

Hi there!

It's been a while, but here I am!

First, I know that maybe the change of point of view may confuse you, but since it is a OptimusXOc it could not be otherwise, sooner or later Optimus had to come.

As you can guess, there had been a leap in time, but don't worry about the missing part, because during the next chapters we will deal with the issue.

And I know that there will be many questions, about the twins, for example.

_How _they could be human, or why Lucile is a giant, but everything will be explained further.

I hope that my interpretation of Optimus is plausible and that you can accept it, because this is how I _see _him.

Sometimes tired, sometimes weak, sometimes desirous of something _better._

As always, thanks for reading!


	7. 7-The trouble of becoming the lucky one

A person's true nature was incredibly difficult to grasp.

It was just like dip one hand in a murky puddle of water, and search blindly for something _worth _the try.

What in particular was sought, almost no one knew, at the beginning, but it had to be something interesting and fascinating, otherwise, the search would have been useless.

_Boring. _

No one liked a dull personality, after all, a shared opinion according to which, opposed to how it should really be, the kinky and tangled souls were the most valued, the most sought after.

Knotty, was therefore synonymous with charming, alluring, while simplicity was seen as tedious and dull.

So, a taciturn and reserved person was preferred to a goofy and clumsy one, because, maybe, there had to be some dark and interesting secret to make the first who he was.

Yes. _Maybe._

Because you could not see what was hidden beneath the murky water, you could only rely on the touch and imagine what it might be there. _Might._

Again, a chance.

One of the many that could lead one to make a mistake, to be deceived and set up something that was not there, that, perhaps, had never been there.

Just like that secret, for example.

The mysterious and tragic events that could change a heart, even harden it, if the pain was too much to bear without change, in turn, unfortunate occurrences before which everybody reacted differently.

Some people swallowed the tears, for example, others spat on the world their bitterness, and others, instead, kept smiling just like that goofy person who was discarded and had been ignored, only because he_ seemed_ plain and boring.

Seem. A façade.

He had created one, of course, everybody could.

The fact was that some people were better than others to disguise themselves. That's all.

No dark secret, no tragedy, angst, _only_, that.

Simple, plain, and almost boring, but it was just like that. Really.

So, be wrong, slip up was unavoidable, the inevitable consequence of the need to please the others, even if it meant to deceive them.

After all, it was less risky pretend to be someone else, because, in the worst case, that illusion, the one they have created, would be the one to suffer, to be hurt in thei place.

Therefore, they hide behind a mask to be safe, making difficult to uncover the truth, to find the _real _him.

And yet, in spite of everything, sometimes, somehow, someone found it. The real you.

And it was not a matter of luck, but of how strong was his desire to find you out, how far one could push himself before getting tired of it.

_To seek you._

It was a test, just like the myth of the Minotaur.

But, in that case, the labyrinth was not made by wall of stone, but of mental hurdles.

The hero, was not a brave and fearless man, but he could be a woman, a man or a child looking for a bond, a link with someone from whom be loved in return, from whom not be hurt.

And the thread of Arianna?

That was not an aid given from the beginning, but the prize for those who had not given up trying, who, despite getting lost, had continued to seek the Minotaur who was not who we expected to find, at the end.

Not an idea.

An illusion.

A myth.

But the _reality._

Something far more frightening than an illusion, because in that case, the wound and the pain would have been _true._

It was risky, just like playing Russian roulette and _hope_ that there are no bullet in your gun, but not all of them were brave enough to accept the risk of losing, so, they cheated.

_Sad_. It was unthinkable how sad human could be, sometimes. And intricate too.

It was so their mind and their way of thinking, as it was _unbelievable_ their capacity to complicate and even destroy, in the attempt to protect themselves from future wounds, the simple things.

To confuse and sadden their_ own_ heart.

It seemed that theirs was a need, a habit accrued as a result of what was the cause of many things in the world.

_Fear._

The fear to relate to the world, to people, to bind themselves to something, to someone.

The fear of being judged, of disappointing the expectations, of being_ too_ little, or rejected, or _hurt_.

You see, _so_ much to fear, so _many _possibilities that something could go wrong.

So, the only thing to do was to close to the world and to the suffering that it could cause, beforehand.

Prevent, rather than cure the pain.

A cowardly move, true, but they all became so, at a certain point in their life.

It was only that sometimes, run away was fair, just like it was not wrong to be a coward, for once.

Elope.

Avoid the revenge.

Hush the lure of the anger that drove someone to repay others with the same grief, the same sorrow suffered.

It was right, _due, _if there was someone else that, for that need of destroying, would suffer in turn in seeing a person, a human being like him, injured, trampled on.

Someone that would ask an unanswered question.

Why?

Why all that need to hurt, to cause pain to another person when they were all the _same?_

_Why_?

Because they were scared to be injured, otherwise. Someone had to be, at the end.

So why not the other ? Better him than you. On the other hand, sacrifice yourself for someone you do not know was silly and unthinkable, a logical and pragmatic reasoning, but logic and feelings rarely went hand in hand, and it was _all _a matter of feelings. It always was.

Complicated, sometimes inconceivable, sometimes conflicting, irrational feelings.

Everything revolved around those ones.

Their lives.

Their thoughts.

Their every move.

They acted on feelings, they lived, died, on them.

Therefore, it was necessary to handle them with care, with the utmost kindness and patience, just like Lucile was doing with the ones of the sad stranger she led by the hand through the forest.

Hands. Lucile had always liked hands.

It was the easiest way to read the other person, for her.

Because the eyes knew how to deceive, to trick you, they knew how to harden themselves and mirror the world but not their feelings, while hands, hands did not lie.

They trembled, tightened, crushed, clung, crying out, in doing so, what was untold, and, they did not ever, _ever_, remain still.

Motionless. _Silent._

Because they talked, to her, about the misfortune, the misery that had roughened their skin and hardened their grip around things, so she, who was so soft, liked to hug them in hers so as to feel what they feel, and, if she could, if they needed it, even give them help.

After all, help those who were in need was a pulse of the heart, and, for her, over time, it had become almost a duty, because she knew, yes, she know, no, she _had_ known the torment and the anguish of those who had not received support, even if they asked, even if they had begged, for it.

_For some help. _

What, at the time, she had not had, ending with finding herself powerless, and alone, forgotten from the world and the people who lived in it.

Therefore she, she had wanted to help the tall and quiet stranger as soon as she had looked at him.

Because Lucile had felt something, what, exactly, she did not know, but something like a connection, a frail and broken link, exactly as frail and broken were his eyes, and his profile.

So melting, and almost, almost _heartbroken._

And it hurt. It hurt to have a broken heart, and his, his was crushed into tiny pieces, scraps that she saw in his gaze, his sad, _so_ painfully sad gaze.

But, there was not just that, not just sadness in them, but even tiredness and loneliness, too much loneliness for her to stand it, to pretend nothing.

Touch him with her mind, hug his jaded heart and gaze was therefore an instinct, more than a mere duty, for Lucile.

She had felt the _need _to help him, to loosen the tight strings that tended themselves to support his weight, his pain, and then, then she had felt the need to give him something to _cling to,_ and she, like her papa had said to her many times, was the safest and unshakable thing to hold on when you feel yourself like sinking.

A rock. A steady and firm rock, that was what Lucile was at that moment.

A rock, a foothold, a support without which he would fall, otherwise.

That, that was exactly the feeling she had, as Lucile raised her eyes to the sky and to the helicopter that was now flying over their heads.

It was odd, and almost scary to know to have the power to make one person fall to his knees, and, by the way he let himself be carried by her, it seemed that she could drag the stranger whenever she wanted, a troublesome thought which led her to warn him about how dangerous was to give confidence to a stranger, even to a little girl like her, before the look of discomfort on his faceplate made her frown.

\- They can't see us.

Optimus Prime would be ashamed of his reaction, of his pathetic and disappointing behavior if only he had been more conscious of his surroundings and his emotion, but, of course, he hadn't.

He was a victim, a victim of his own messy feelings, of the jaded state of his processors and of his troubled and lost spark.

Consequently, among the many things that he could have done, things more lordly and less wretched, probably, Optimus Prime quavered like a little and broken toy to which had been given too much load when the silky voice of his sparkmate boomed in his helm, a call to which his eyes and spark answered unconsciously, even before he could think and decided what to do with himself.

\- How? – he whispered in a soft and still booming voice, his servo left at the mercy of the tender fingers that strengthened his clumsy hold on her, almost as he was a frightened and lost child who did not know where to go anymore, while she, she was his only way to not get lost again, and maybe, maybe it was like that for real, or, at least, for the moment, he would leave it to be so.

Lucile looked sideways, from under her thick eyelashes, the huge shadows that swallowed up hers, eyes caught by the sever light that weighed his face while the ground shook under the heavy and tired step with which he followed her, almost blindly.

Even his voice seemed breakable, despite the low and rough echo in his throat.

_He_, seemed breakable, she noticed with growing concern, continuing to look at him secretly.

An astonishing thought, given his size and appearance, but just as she knew, a person's true nature was hidden deep, and most of the time, the inside did not reflect the outside.

It was as is often said, looks can be deceiving, and no one knew it better than her, especially now, when her explanation about how the helicopter could not see them because_ she_ didn't want to be seen, would have seemed infantile as the whim of a little kid, but as strange and crazy as it might seem, that was the truth.

The problem, that of a lifetime, was how to explain and _be believed._

_That, _ was in fact, extremely difficult.

Lucile herself, once realized that it was not the world to be changed, but she, had struggled to get used to the change, to curb the fear and hold back the tears of fear and despair, but in spite of everything, in the end, she had believed in herself, and in who had said how precious and dear she was.

So, as much as strangely bound she felt with the stranger, it was not wise to reveal something so dangerous like her, well, her oddity, not even if he seemed worth of trust.

And he seemed so, yes, he seemed, but, once again, look can be deceiving, and, if her assumptions proved to be wrong, then the damage will be too great, the pain, will be too great, and she knew, she remembered _how_ painful it was, to be wrong.

Therefore, for the moment, Lucile decided to let him turn in her labyrinth without a thread to follow and with only an illusion to sough, an illusion to which she decide to give a little touch of fantasy and eccentricity, just as her papa accused her of being most of the time.

\- Well, it's easy – she hummed softly under her breath, twisting her neck shortly after to show the enigmatic and cryptic smile that graced her pretty face, while Optimus fidgeted under the starry gaze of his sparkmate, and the world beneath and around him disappeared once again with his breath.

\- It' because I made it so. I'm a magician, you know. A real one.

The bizarre picture of a human dressed in blue with a pointy hat was selected by his processors once the word 'magician, a term not yet stored in his database, requested a search on the World Wide Web.

A really strange and senseless picture that, placed beside that of his sparkmate, could not drive away the increasing confusion from Optimus's faceplates or, at least, give a meaning to her statement, since there were no analogy between an old and funny looking human and the clever youngling he had before him, but when his processor focused on the word "magic", then, a glimmer of wonder cleaned the haze in his troubled gaze, while a gentle and kind smile curved his metal lips.

\- Fascinating.

Blinking, Lucile felt her lips tremble into a sheepish smile while the heat on her cheeks blazed like flames once the unexpected kindness of his low voice, and the strange fondness of his gaze unleashed in her an embarrassment of which Lucile was rarely a victim, given her extrovert personality.

But there was something, in his way of speaking, and especially, in his way of looking at her, which made it difficult for Lucile not to feel awed by his oddly kind behavior, and by the way he stared at her, just like, _yes_, just like her papa looked at her.

With fondness and tenderness.

Well, she reasoned with herself, kids did tenderness, and she, with her twelve years, could be sorted as one of them, but no, it was not only that.

_No_. There was something else beyond the tenderness, what, Lucile could not frame it yet, but it was a matter of time before she found it out. Yes. A matter of time. It always was, with people.

Time to seek, to figure out a personality, and, perhaps, even time to search in depth and establish a link, too, if his thread was strong enough to bear the weight of another intrusion.

\- Do you want to see another magic? – she offered with vibrant eyes and a smile that would not even fit on her face, so wide it was, her fingers trembling from the mirth that shook her petite figure.

Curiosity made its way into the optics of Optimus Prime like a small glimmer of childish wonder, his sparks that struggled once again between duty and desire, a strife at the end of which, surprisingly, but not much for his spark as for his processor, to win was once again the second one.

The desire of freedom.

A visceral need which led the leader of the Autobot to give a little squeeze to her hand in agreement while his optics chained themselves to the ground, and her tiny but strong hand came back to lead him to the unknown.

To the _possibility_.

The one he had never given, allowed to himself.

The_ first one _ he never had. Wanted. Waited for.

And, as any first time, astonishment and wonder waited his hesitant form and the diffident gaze that Optimus Prime found himself having to open wide to fill the miserable void left by the death, with the beauty of a new vibrant life.

* * *

Loneliness could be a physical feeling, just as it could be a mental one.

Anyhow, the result would always be the same, but, if there had been a place or a state that facilitated its birth, then, it would have been the silence.

Heavy, sorrowful, wearing silence.

And his, Optimus Prime's silence had dyed itself of the sour black of death and of the somber gray of despair, the hollow shades that now, under the gentle light of the dying sun, took a softer tint and taste.

It was warm, there, where the high dark wood walls gave a strange feeling of home, of safety, or maybe, the fatigue made him homesick and nostalgic like a little child, a paragon that had become repetitive for a while, just like were his thoughts.

Always such somber and despicable thoughts, but now, be miserable, wretched, or even pathetically weak was not a problem, for him.

No. Not now. Not when the warmth of the small wooden shelter dulled the frost of his fear and doubts.

Not when even the silence, the usually merciless, chilling silence, bunted his sharp angles in favor of the smoothness of a soft and oddly peaceful lack of sound.

And for Optimus Prime, the silence had never been peaceful, or soft, smooth, only cutting and savage, nothing so _sheltered._

_A_nd yet, so it was at that time, and he was grateful for it, for _her._

Because she, the tiny shape that he saw running from one side of the room with a gentle smile, was the one to make it so, to make him feel at peace with his own fears, almost as if it was right to have ones, and even if it was so in reality, Optimus had never thought that it was also applied to him.

Not to a Prime.

But since he had set foot in that tiny wooden shelter, it was as if he had ceased to be one, to be a Prime, finding himself to be, instead, a mere lost being who someone had picked up from somewhere, and so he was acting.

He had sat when she had asked him to, and, in silence, he waited for her to come back to look at him, torn between the puerile need to reach out for her to be looked at again, and the urgent desire to ask her name.

Such silly wish, but he longed for it. For her name.

Torn, and lost indeed, but still able to restrain such embarrassing instincts.

\- Found it!

The cheerful cry boomed in the shelter like the bursting of a balloon, sparing Optimus the shame of having to face still such foolish thoughts, allowing him to focus his attention on the petite shape he saw trotting toward him with a pretty smile on her face and, with his great astonishment, with a huge slab of metal to fly over her head.

When Lucile caught the sudden change on the sad face of the stranger, it was too late to be able to do something, or, at least, to remind herself of having to hold back since, as much as kind he was and seemed, the gentle creature was always a stranger.

Yes. A stranger. And, as such, unable to understand and recognize aspects that were normal for her, like raise with the power of her mind huge, heavy slab of metal.

So, when she saw his huge hand come down towards her, Lucile could only stare dumbfounded his metal fingers crush the slab while one of his arms pressed her against his chest for protection.

The silence that fell shortly after the noisy clang of metal was filled soon by the meaningless of her rumbling, words that Lucile stifled against the chest from which Optimus Prime pulled her back with widened optics, mortified for her obvious discomfort of finding herself in the grip of a stranger, but what he found, once he moved her away from him, made his spark tremble and cry in horror.

A shiny tear wet the lips that Lucile crumpled over and over again under the river of words that filled her restless throat, words that now, without something against which being stifled, ceased to be an indistinct babbling.

\- I'm sorry – she murmured in a tiny, small voice, her eyes huge and shiny with the tears that were rolling down her cheeks – I'm sorry. Please, don't be afraid.

A pleading, hers.

A chocked request for which Optimus Prime, distraught as he was from her abrupt outburst, did not know how to react. What to do.

But when he did, when he found something to do through the wave of alarm and concern that drowned his optics and spark, it was, indeed, the wrong one.

The sudden knot in her throat prevented Lucile to say anything to the tall and now frightened stranger who had just moved away from her, his troubled gaze scratched by the fright that gave rise to new tears in her eyes.

Shiny, tiny little tears that Lucile wiped away with the sleeve of her colorful dress while, with trembling fingers, she rubbed the hem of her skirt to compose herself.

She must have seemed a crazy little child, with all those meaningless tears and a gaze that she knew to be pleading and intimidated, as if he had frightened her with his protective gesture, but even if she _was _afraid, she was not afraid _of _him.

No. Not of him.

But _for_ him, for the reaction to what he should not have seen, for what _no one_ should see, because she knew the danger, the _pain_ that would ensue, otherwise.

\- I'm sorry. I will not do it again so, so don't be afraid, _please._

Again a pleading, again a chocked request for which, this time, Optimus reacted on instinct, reaching out her outstretched hand with a weak thin smile.

\- Here – she whispered softly, rustling her fingers on his armor before he gently took her tiny hand in his, stopping the trembling of her own with a light squeeze.

\- I'm sorry – Lucile returned to murmur, her shiny eyes on their joined hands – I-

\- I'm not afraid of you.

The impetus with which she went back to look up startled him, but when she searched his gaze, Optimus cleaned his optics from the concern and the distraught to allow her to find what she had given him shortly before.

Safety.

Something which a sparkling like her needed more than him.

\- I'm not afraid of you – he stated, this time more firmly, tearing a hesitant smile from her.

\- Really? – she asked again, her tone quivering for something Optimus could not grasp yet.

Fear, maybe. Bur fear for what?

For his reaction to her outburst, to her behavior?

\- Of what should I be afraid, sparking?

_Her papa's nickname._

Lucile smiled a little more once recognized it, _her pet name_, one more reason to trust the gentle stranger who still hold her hand kindly.

Less frightened, Lucile sought the metal plate now shattered on the ground, before raise her gaze and meet his gentle eyes, doubt in her trembling lips.

Because she wanted to tell him about her, she wanted to tell him _everything_, to tell _someone_, but it was not wise, even if was so kind, no. She could not. Not now.

Maybe afterwards. Yes. Maybe.

\- That… that I'm a magician – she found the courage to whisper, a little shy, with her head tilted to the side to hide her strange eyes.

A shadow of tenderness dyed Optimus's optics when he caught the trembling of her tiny lips, his grip a little bit safer and stronger around her tiny palm.

\- And what can a magician do? – he inquired gently.

\- Strange things – was the fast answer Lucile gave him, focusing her gaze on the crushed slab – like that – she pointed with a finger.

Twisting his neck, Optimus stared carefully at the metal he had crumbled between his fingers, but he tried not to frown since he felt her timid gaze on his faceplate, almost as she tried to find something to fear, what, he did not know or conjecture, but he would not let himself be a source of discomfort, for her.

So he remained silent, waiting for her to be at ease to keep talking, what she did with one last look to his expression.

\- I wanted to use it… I wanted to use it for… I… –Lucile stopped her stuttering word with a start when she felt his intense gaze on her face, the concern to make her waver once again.

\- You wanted it to? – he encouraged her with a calm and steady voice.

So comforting, so it was his gaze and tone, but Lucile still hesitated, worried that he might find her concern annoying, that _he_, might find _her_ annoying, but he seemed so gentle, so kind, that she decided to tell him.

Yes. Tell him.

\- I wanted to use it for the wound, to cover your wound – she specified after a second, finding herself to limp forward together the tall stranger who, without a word, and with her great surprise, sat down again on the huge settle without a breath, and with her hand still clutched in his own.

\- Go ahead.

The deep astonishment that had filled her eyes and hatched her lips gave away to a more quiet and bland confusion when Lucile found herself standing in front of him, at his eyes level, with an invitation to get on with whatever she wanted to do.

A granted permission that came unexpected, accustomed as she had become to be rejected for her oddness, but he, he had just _invited _her to keep going, whatever she wanted to do, leaving her at loss of words and with her eyes wide open for the disbelief.

\- I… I can go ahead?

A frown twisted Optimus's faceplates when the frail voice of the sparkling set in motion a range of conjecture on what or who had instilled her that heartbreaking doubt about herself, about what she _could _do without trigger a reaction that she seemed to fear more than anything.

An assumption that had the power to snatch him a low growl for which Lucile flinched, widening her already huge eyes in fear and worry.

\- I'm sorry. I'm sorry – she returned to chant like a broken song, her left hand that tried to slip from the strong grip that Optimus, mortified and upset to have caused her discomfort once again, strengthened to prevent her from slipping away.

A frightening, oh, _so _frightening thought.

\- Don't be. There is no reason to apologize – he tried to reassure her, softening the voice and the grip to make her understand that, whatever she feared to receive, he would not give it to her.

\- My wound. You wanted to cover my wound. Am I wrong?

A flash of realization lit her troubled gaze, before Lucile stopped squirming to stare with concern at the deep scratch to his side.

\- The wound – she whispered softly, lingering with her gaze on it for another few second before determination sharpened the strength of her gaze and voice.

\- I can treat the wound? – she asked with a little more confidence.

\- It will be my pleasure – was the knightly answer of the Autobot.

And then, finally, maybe thanks to his old fashionable, but reassuring way of speaking, or to the mere case, a little smile graced her gentle features.

\- Then I'll.

Smile in return was one of the easiest things that Optimus Prime had ever done in many Solar Cycle, and, surprisingly, even the most rewarding when he realized how her starry gaze was once again soft and clean, and at that consideration, a surge of pride blew between his gears and fans, almost as he had just gained a hard victory while, what he had really had was worth much more than it. Than a victory.

A smile, over a victory.

_Life, over death._

A sudden gust of wind next to his shoulder called back his attention and optics to the ground, where he knew she was waiting for him, for his reaction.

Because he _felt _her rising apprehension, her heartbreaking indecision, and that strange empathy gave him the chance to adjust accordingly his emotions, like the bewilderment at seeing again the slab of metal float in the air, breaking, in doing so, every physical law known.

Lucile bit her lips in a fit of nervousness when she could not read his expression, or what he hid behind his gentle gaze, and even if the need to read his mind to know what he was _really _feeling was strong_, _she just stared at him secretly, approaching the metal plate to the injured side.

A flinch, that was all Optimus Prime allowed himself once the oddly warm metal came into contact with his own, covering the scratch like a queer bandage, but more than on it, his optics hovered on the focused expression that the sparkling had.

Her strange eyes were narrowed in concentration, while her tiny lips stretched and shrivel whenever the slab of metal wheeled a little to the right, or a little to the left, almost like she was looking for it a suitable position.

How, she could do that, he did not know, and, in all honesty, he did not even care to if the discovery would have caused her sorrow and grief.

No. He did not care, if that was the price to pay.

Hilarious, given his duty, as a leader and warrior, to _know _everything about his own kind and what could be seen as a threat, but he did not claim anything from her, not even her name, if she did not want for him to know it.

\- It's almost over – Lucile whispered contritely when he flinched for the burning embrace of the metal she had melted with her mind to make it stick to his armor, so as to completely close the wound, and it was with a final gentle pat on his injured side that she came back to look up at him with concern and worry.

\- Done.

Quietly, Optimus Prime slid his left hand on the smooth metal that covered his wound like a second skin, a sleek layer that barely showed the presence of a wound, as if there had ever been one, wonder in his optics and a slight smile on his metal lips.

\- I'm sorry if it's not pretty – she apologized, tearing him a benevolent smile.

\- It's practical – he thought aloud, optics back to her worried face – and practical is better than pretty, for me. I owe you, young one.

\- It's nothing, really – she piped shyly, folding her arms behind her back with a clumsy swinging of her legs – Actually, I wanted to apologize for the thing in the forest.

\- What thing? – he inquired with a frown, resolute to stop her from apologizing again for something she was not to blame.

A wave of guilt crossed her face before Lucile pursued her lips in a desolated grimace.

\- The mind-reading - she explained in a soft tone - I apologize for that.

_Mind-reading._

The word, at first, did not seem to trigger anything in his processors, no threat, no reason to an overreaction, but when the gravity and the _ harmfulness_ of the discovery were fully and painfully absorbed by his spark, tense was the first reaction that his whole being had.

Then, there was the heaviness of his rough breath, and the painful contraction of the spark that cried panicky when the fear, the _horror _that someone had seen, that_ she_, had seen what he was hiding, the shameful thoughts and how wrong, pathetic, wretched and somber he was, he could be, hit him.

Appalling. It was appalling the chance, the _possibility_ that someone had seen it.

His weakness. His blemish. His failing.

Appalling, and, breathtaking, but the fact that that someone, that the one was her, his sparkmate, was heartbreaking.

And unfair.

_So_ keenly unfair.

\- I'm sorry! I… I haven't seen anything! I swear! I haven't seen anything – was the awkward apology that Lucile, in the throes of guilt and strain, gave him with heartfelt and quivering voice.

\- I swear it! I – she pressed, but the sharp stir with which the stranger rose, took away her trembling voice, while the settle and her clumsy attempt to calm him down were turned upside down by his disquiet.

But how could Lucile apologize for something that even she knew to be a wrong and nasty thing?

How?

\- I – she began, not knowing exactly what to say, _how_ to apologize, while tears of frustration made her eyes sting and, clumsily, she decided to reach out to him with one, hesitant hand.

Stiffening, Optimus Prime lowered his troubled gaze on the tiny shape who had just seized him by the arm, optics soiled by the bitterness that, in looking at her moped expression, softened a little, allowing her to meet his eyes with her own.

\- I'm sorry. I…I haven't seen anything. I only heard a few of your thoughts and for that – she urged to say once caught the shadow of grief in his eyes – for that, I'm sorry. I really am, but I needed to know if you were with them.

\- Them who? – he demanded to know, grim , his breath a little more regular when the awareness of being safe, for the moment, that everything was still hidden, _still_ _unknown_, reassured his jaded spark.

\- Bad people – Lucile whispered under her breath, with a hint of fright to shake her voice – but, but you're not with them, I _saw_ it. So, so it's okay. Yes, it's okay – she insisted, smiling a little when she caught the hard light in his now sharp gaze- You can stay here, with me, until you're healed or longer, if you want. I spoke truly before, I'll keep you safe here. And, and I'll never, _never_ again read your mind, I promise! So, stay, okay?

Such a tender and warm-hearted displayed of kindness, but Optimus Prime felt the tingling of that "_them_" shake his gears and spark of a hatred that was beginning to swallow up his mind and obscure his judgment.

Because he _knew_ what was due that frightened voice, what _bad people_ meant, to her.

Foe, enemies who the leader of the Autobot made his just because they were hers, of the small, tiny and kind sparkling who still was holding his hand, gently, while his fingers twitched for the need to _crush_ the helm of that _bad people _of whom she was so afraid of.

But not now.

No. Not now. Not when he had something else to grasp, to hold with much more care and gentleness,

a handgrip to which he clung to drive away the somber darkness of his thought and find once again, in the gentle curve of her little smile, the glimmer of reason.

\- I accept with gratitude your kind offer, young one.

Lucile stifled a small laugh between closed lips when she heard again his affable way of speaking, almost as he was talking with a dame and not to a twelve year old little and chattering child who she knew to be.

\- Young one – she giggled, smiling warmly to both his eyebrow arched in an amused look – you talk funny.

\- My apologies for that.

\- Oh, no, there's no need to apologize – she reassured him, a new titter pushing against her lips – actually, it's a good thing.

\- Is that so? – he questioned gently, the angle of his mouth that, slowly, curled upward in a ghost of a smile.

Lucile nodded cheerfully, giving him a sheepish look.

\- I feel like a little princess when you do that – she confessed, a little shyly , before the thought that _she_ was the rude one, led Lucile to shake his hand feverishly.

\- How could I have forgotten! It was so foolish of me!

Startled, Optimus Prime leaned towards her under the force of the tossing with sagging shoulder and his right servo prey of the swinging of their joined hands that Lucile changed in a firm shaking of hands when resolution dyed her determined gaze.

\- I forgot to introduce myself! – she complained, incredulous of herself, keeping on to shake their hand – How could I? It was so rude of me! So rude!

\- It's not-

\- It's not forgivable. I know – she interrupted him, nodding and shaking his hand while Optimus Prime, hesitant and, in all honesty, a little awed by her outburst, let her be, still crouched, with the shear bolts of his joint to squeak under the repetitive move.

The whole situation must have seemed funny, or ridiculous depending on who would have looked at them, seen from outside, but care about the rest of the world seemed to have become an optional choice for the leader of the Autobot.

\- We need to fix it! Yes, fix it! – Lucile stated resolutely, slowing the shaking to allow the stranger to focus on her face.

\- I'm Lucile. Nice to meet you.

_Lucile. _

The word, hummed fondly by his processors, slipped gently between his circuits, his fans, and low, to the right, where as a drop of cool water hit the top, shaking the thick surface before it was embraced and lulled in the depth of his soul with a gentle whisper still muttered by his mess up processor.

\- And yours?

Lucile blinked slowly when she saw the stranger jump to the sound of her voice, lost in himself, maybe, waiting for him to recompose himself with a gentle smile.

\- My apologies. What-

\- Your name, what's your name?

\- My name – he repeated in his booming voice, a hint of shame for the daze in which he had fallen to stir his troubled gaze – My name is- but, again, the silence swallowed up his words and the answer that Lucile was waiting silently.

Waiting and waiting for something that now, Optimus Prime, did not seem to be able to give her.

A name.

Such a silly and easy thing to give, but, somehow, he could not give it. No. He could not.

Not to her. Not, even, to himself.

Why?

A growl of frustration thundered in his throat when he tried, and tried to say _it,_ to say _his name_, but every time he was going to do it, something grasped his throat in a cruel grip, choking his voice.

_Why,_ he asked to himself in fury and astonishment, snarling lowly when he managed to catch a flash of worry darted in her eyes.

Why could he not do something _so_ simple?

Why?

Because the illusion of being someone else, someone who could be so weak, and distraught, and wrong without having to be ashamed of who he was, would be broken.

He, would be broken, once again.

\- Do you feel sick? – came the concerned voice of his sparkmate, a flash of warm light that succeeded, for a while, to light up the thick darkness of his thoughts, but the surface of his fear and doubt were too hard and too cold to be heated for long while Optimus Prime was beginning to get cold. Icy, cold.

A frost that, slowly, was beginning to harden his gaze, his grip, and the fingers he twitched to regain a bit of heat.

Because he knew. He _knew_ the reason he could not give his name.

Because, he didn't want to.

He didn't want to.

He didn't' want to remember who he was, what he had to do, how, he should handle things, and be at the mercy of a sparkling, accept help, shelter by her, by_ someone,_ they were not among the thing to do, among the things the leader of the Autobot should have done.

What, Optimus Prime, should not have done.

Optimus Prime. The name of the leader. The descendent of the Great. The legacy of a God.

A name weary and too burdensome to wear, when he did not have the strength to bear it, and now he was too weak to do it. Weak, and tired, and broken, once again, because of it.

Always, because of it.

Of that name which, now, would have meant losing her.

Lose his possibility to be safe.

To be free.

To be happy.

And he also wanted to be so. To be happy.

He deserved the chance to feel it, for once. To be contented.

But no. Not him. Not Optimus Prime.

He did not have the time, the _right_, when others had not it, when his Autobot had not it.

No. He could not.

\- Did you want to sit? – Lucile offered with a worried face – Or did you have to throw up? I can find a bucket if you have to.

_Why, _his gears hissed when she patted his chest gently, asking if he felt bad there.

_Why did he have to give up her so soon?_

_Why he could not simply keep her with him? _Just her. He didn't ask for anything more.

He _would_ not have asked for anything more.

Just, her. _Please._

He begged for it, but to whom?

To himself. That's who.

To that Optimus Prime who he didn't want to be, not yet. Later, yes, later, but not now. Not now.

A possibility. A possibility to be someone else. For once.

He asked just for that, and just for a while, just for her, if only he had a chance. If only he had another name to give. If only-

_\- _We can sit down if you want. Do you have a headache? Maybe the wound is not-

\- Orion.

Lucile looked up with a frown when she felt over her head the heavy breath of his hoarse whisper.

\- What? – she asked in a little voice, unsure to have heard really his voice.

\- Orion. My name is Orion Pax.

The warmth that embraced her soft gaze after a second of pensive silence repaid Optimus Prime of the struggle and the strain to resume a long forgotten part of his past, the fragment of a story buried under layers and layers of war, and pain, and sorrow from which he exhumed the only safe and not harmful thing, _just for her._

\- You have the name of the stars – Lucile stated with kind voice, smiling encouragingly at his hazy expression – that's nice.

\- Stars? – he whispered back, slowly, gently, almost as if the mere word could hurt him, if said aloud, and it did, in fact.

It hurt, but it was a wound that had the melancholic flavor of something bittersweet and forgotten a long time ago, when the sky glowed and cast the bright reflection of its stars upon the face of a mech who did not know yet that soon, _too _soon, that same sky would be burned by the savage and cruel light of the burst of the bodies of those whom he called once friend.

Lucile nodded in answer to his soft and almost, nostalgic tone, inviting him, meanwhile, to sit down on the settle since she was not sure if he would be sick again.

\- There's a constellation that had your name – she explained, peering beneath her thick eyelashes a shadow of bitterness that made him look a little bit sad.

\- Is that so? – Optimus inquired in a low whisper, following with a faint smile her furious nodding.

\- Yes. It's called after a greek hero. Orion. It's a pretty nice name, actually, and it's easier than those of my fathers.

\- Are you referring to your creator?

Blinking, Lucile tasted the word on her tongue with care, knitting her eyebrow in concentration when the feeling to have already heard that term tilted her clever mind.

But where she had heard that word?

Yeah. Where did she?

\- Oh, I remember now – she hummed softly, a nostalgic look to color of sweetness her strange eyes – it's the same word my papa used once.

Her tender voice sounded so far away, at that moment, with that hint of fondness that reached out for him, ripping from his narrowed optics the hard black of the suspect, a terrible and alarming suspect.

A shadow that, taken as she was from the sweet memory, Lucile could not grasp, or clean for him.

Just like she did not notice right away the stiffness of the hand that Optimus Prime would have closed in a fist, if it had not been for the tiny palm that he would have crushed, in doing so.

So, a twitch on his jaw.

That was the only reaction that the leader of the Autobot allowed himself when the realization of not taking into account, at the appropriate time, a thing so weighty sent his processors into a rage against his failing.

Because it was logical that she had a creator. It was natural, and, also, dangerous. Incredibly dangerous.

For him, for his role as the leader of the Autobot, and, for everything he had found until now.

Fall apart.

Everything could fall apart_ if_ her creator would prove themselves to be a foe, instead of a friend.

To be the bad seed, instead of the good ones.

_But would it really make a difference?_ growled the raging voice of his spark, his jaded, wounded and pained spark that had twisted itself in disbelief.

_Would it really make a difference know to which side they belonged to?_

And if so, if they really belonged to the Decepticons, then, then what would he do?

Would he hurt _her_?

Would he come up to kill her in the name of his cause, for what he represented?

Would he have _allowed _his subordinates, the human who he protected, the world that was his duty to keep in balance, to touch and _crush _her in his name?

Would he?

\- Do you feel sick again?

Slowly, so slowly as to not even give the impression of having moved himself, Optimus Prime lowered his chin, his gaze, and, then, his head. His heavy, heavy head, so much to give him the impression to be on the verge of breaking it in half.

That he, was going to break in half, to pieces.

But, in spite of all that weight, in spite of the disgust that crushed his throat and the horror that froze his tongue, his optics, his wandering, lost, desperate optics sought her gentle face, her gentle voice, and, a support, a hold on something.

And, she gave it to him.

She kept him from going to pieces once again, and when she strengthened the grip of her little palm on his large and rough one, Optimus Prime found himself, and his answer.

When Lucile sensed the movement to her right, she did not look away from Orion's eyes to find out to what it was due.

She could not. She should not.

Because she_ felt_ his need to be watched by her, to find something to hold, just like before.

Once again incredibly frail, incredibly brittle, incredibly breakable.

And she did not care about the reason, she would not even asked if he had not wanted her to, because he was broken, and she _knew _how it was, to be broken.

So she stood still, because she wanted it, because she needed it, because, because she _felt it_, and when the cold pinched her cheek, she did not move, she did not ask, she just waited for him to talk again, and to be able to stand on his own.

The bubble of heat that exploded in his spark at the touch melted the cold trace of the fear, the doubt, and the pain encrusted to his gears, his processors and his fan that, finally free by the icy bite of the pain, blew a breath of warmth between the cold lips that Optimus Prime curved in a warm smile, embracing in his hand the hot face of his sparkmate who looked back at him with huge and shining eyes.

\- No – he sighed for the first time with a contemptuous expression on his faceplate, sinking his trembling fingers in the soft hair of Lucile to seek strength, to seek balance, for him, rather than for the world – No. I'm not sick, Lucile.

A flood of color flowed in her burning cheeks before Lucile could even _understand _what had just happened, why, the gaze of Orion was now so quiet, so peaceful, but when the cold metal stroked her head in a gentle and reassuring move, Lucile became aware of many things with a start.

Of the embarrassing redness of her face and ears.

Of the smooth and cold touch of the hand that Orion had placed gently on her burning checks.

And of the deep and puzzling fondness she could read on his gaze set on her.

\- That's… that's good – she babbled, still confused and embarrassed by the way he was looking at her – that's good.

That stuttered and uncoordinated phrases were less than what would be expected to receive from a clever girl like her, but Lucile, at the moment, was embarrassed.

Truly, deeply embarrassed as perhaps, as perhaps she had never been before.

And yet, as if it might be possible to become even redder, a new deep flush dyed her palm and the tip of her little nose when she heard him laugh.

A low, throaty, deep laugh that echoed even in her chest, so strong and deep it was, like a strong throb in her head, face, and in the hand he grasped so kindly and gently to make her eyes sting.

Because now, now from his eyes, that heartbreaking sadness was gone, so the tiredness and the pain.

Everything was gone, and it was a good reason for her, to smile in relief, laughing softly in turn under the fond gaze of Optimus Prime.

\- Yeah – he whispered in a low breath, so low that it could not be heard by anyone beside him, caressing her cheeks, in the meantime, with his cold metal fingers – That's good.

After assuring herself of the absence of concern and fear in his gaze, Lucile closed her eyelashes in contentment, her head resting in the gentle hand that was holding her face.

Risky, yes, still risky having regard that, even if he now had a name, Orion was still a stranger to her, but he was not dangerous or wicked such as those from which her papa had warned her.

No, he was not so-

_\- Lucile._

Startled by the unexpected and sharp call, Lucile blinked her eyes open to glance up, so to check Orion and figure out the sudden change of behavior and tone, but when an identical startled expression meet her own, she frowned in confusion.

\- Is something wrong? – Optimus Prime inquired with a troubled gaze once he saw her turn to the left and to the right as she was searching for something she could not yet catch – Lucile?

\- I'm fine – she muttered in a hushed tone, searching with narrowed eyes the source of that angry call before meeting Orion's concerned gaze once again.

\- I'm fine. It's just that -

_\- Lucile!_

_Oh._

Turn white and stare dumfounded at her own reflection through the cutting blue eyes of her new friend were the only things that Lucile could do when recognition slipped on her frozen tongue and the angry and sharp voice in her head had finally a name and a face.

A face that, judging by the wild roar that made her jump with a peep and made the hand clenched to her own stiffen in response, had to be particularly dark and angry at the moment.

The settle cried sharply when Optimus Prime stood in all his fearsome height with the sparkling closed protectively in his firm arms, his optics wild and a defensive posture to fold his form while a dark and threatening shadow scratched his faceplate.

\- What's happening?

The low growl of Orion, and the protective move with which he had just pulled her in his firm grip managed to snatch Lucile from the upset call in her head and from her own anxiety and worry.

\- Nothing – she reassured him, trembling a little in grasping the grim shadow of his eyes and the sharpness of his features now hardened by the suspicion.

\- There is nothing to worry about – she urged to explain, squinting her eyelashes whenever her papa's call demanded her attention back – it's just my papa. They are calling me.

\- Your creator? – he frowned with concern, but Lucile did not have the material time to answer or reassure the both of them when Sunstreaker's raging roar called her once again.

_*- Lucile!_

_\- I'm here papa – she piped in a small voice, awed as she was by his cutting voice – I'm here._

_\- Why did you not answer me straight away? – he demanded to know with a sharp tone, making her cringe with the growl whirring in his throat._

_-I'm sorry papa, I-_

_\- Do not vent your slagging frustration on the sparkling, brother – Sideswipe scolded the twin, softening the grumbling pitch when he turned to their sparkling – don't mind him, sugar ball, he was glitching for the worry. _

_\- Shut up Sideswispe, or I'll tear off your vocal system once and for all – came the instant and snarling answer of Sunstreaker, a threat that, like all the previous ones, went empty._

_\- See what I'm talking about baby? Your other papa has problem with anger control._

_\- Sideswipe!_

A bubble of relieved giggle burst in her chest at that display, while Orion looked at her with his dark frown and her papa keep on bickering like little children in her head.

_\- Anyway, what your papa was trying to ask you in his twisted and rude way, was where you are, baby._

_\- I'm home – she answered instantly, a reply that Sideswipe welcomed with a soft humming while a clear and deep sigh of relief came from the other and more irascible twin._

_\- Good – sighed Sunstreker, his voice now warmer and softer – stay there and don't move._

_\- Why? _

A low growl was, again, all she had before the amused voice of Sideswipe translated the guttural sound.

\- _That was Sunstreaker's way to say "no question, just do as you are told", am I wrong brother?_

Again, only a growl in reply, but this time it was less sharp and bitter.

_\- If I have to be still, I need to know the reason – she, however, persisted, now a little less worried about the sound not really heartening in the background._

_\- We picked up a signal, sugar ball – explained Sideswipe in a patient tone to prevent his twin to burst into hysterics – bad people are coming, so it's safer if you –_

_\- Oh, I saw them – Lucile stated without thinking, and the sudden and heavy silence that followed her assertion was filled soon with the distraught and raging roar that, this time, did not belong to the oldest of the twin._

_\- What does it mean that you see them, Lucile? Where are you now? Did they come after you? Don't worry, your papa will be soon there for you to kick their fat aft! Don't' move and be still, I-_

\- _We are fine, papa, we are fine – she pressed in a hurried tone, raising shortly after a reassuring look on Orion's troubled face – we are fine._

_\- We? – came the sepulchral waft of Sunstreaker, the frost of his flat voice to freeze even the air in his lungs – What does this "we" mean, Lucile? _

Aware too late of her tragic mistake, Lucile gasped in horror, biting shortly after her lip in a fit of nervousness when Sideswipe howled about the close agony that her trackers would suffer for his hand and Sunstreaker waited in his icy silence the answer she eventually gave them in a low mutter.

\- _Me and Orion._

_\- And_ _who the slagging is this Orion now? Lucile, please, __**please,**__ tell me you did not bring home this Orion –_ _Sideswipe pleaded, while the long silence of Sunstreaker made Lucile more and more anxious, because if her usual short- tempered papa was quiet, then the situation was bad._

_Really, __**really **__bad._

_\- He was hurt - she tried to justify herself in a tiny and small voice – He-_

_\- Is he like us?_

Blinking, Lucile stared for a long time Orion's face, a very, long, long time before her eyes found the mark that she knew to distinguish the bad guy from the good ones.

_\- Why the pause Lucile? – chocked Sideswipe, distraught to shake up his voice – did you not-_

_\- Yes – she answered hastily, the concern for the roar of an engine in the background to shade her eyes – He is like you._

_\- You did not check it before bring him home _– _cried Sideswipe in horror while the rumble in the background become noisier and her heart increased the beats tailing the roar of the engine_ – _**Oh my Primus,**__ she did not check, __**faster **__brother, we need to-_

-_ We are coming – _Sunstreaker cut short in his icy and sharp tone, hushing the incompressible babbling of the other twin and the '_wait _ that Lucile left on her lips with the initial trembling of her small form.

When Optimus Prime felt her stir in his firm embrace his first instinct was to strengthen the hold and hide her in his chest with his raised sword ready to protect Lucile from whatever was coming to them, but it was his own need to have her closer to prevent him to let her go as Lucile asked in a worried tone,_ too_ worried for a sparkling who was going to meet her own creator.

Then, again, the misgiving that maybe they really were what he had feared soiled his gaze by the wildness he tried to curb for his own sake, because if he had unleashed the rage and wildness he brooded, in his actual state, then nothing more would make him different from a monster, _from a Decepticon._

And it was that thought to make him loosen the grip with a low hiss of his gears, the heavy sword clenched hard in his servo to restrain the violence of his lower instincts.

Finally free to move, Lucile hopped forward in a hurry, but she spun on herself just before reaching the entry to throw a worried glance to Orion.

\- Maybe I should hide you.

\- Are they dangerous ? – he inquired sharply, his finger twitching on the handle of the sword he was going to raise once again, but the firm denial she gave shaking her head held off the disquiet that had brought his pedes to decrease the little distance between them so as to be ready to intervene.

\- Not at all, but they are a little jumpy about the others- Lucile explained briefly, knowing that she was resizing considerably with that "jumpy" the deep hatred and aversion of her papa toward, well, toward all the world.

\- Jumpy – Optimus murmured thoughtfully, trying to remember to which cybertronian that adjective was more suitable.

\- Yes, and a little touchy about their looks – she kept going, reaching the entrance of the wood shelter under the observant gaze of Optimus Prime – but they are really, _really _sweet.

\- The description sounds familiar to me – he thought aloud, reasoning that obviously they were not talking about the Decepticons, none of them could be described like that.

On the other hand, that "touchy on the looks" could have some feedback with his subordinates, even if the "sweet" was hard to associate even to one of his Autobot.

\- Maybe you know them – she beamed happily, turning on herself to smile at him – they are hard to forget.

"Touchy on their looks". "Sweet". "Hard to forget". And "jumpy".

Optimus Prime frowned in concentration, thinking and trying to remember who best summed up those traits, and when the realization hit him, there was the mask to hide the worried curl of his lips while his optics widened in astonishment and the roar of an engine, close, _too_ close, made Lucile turn and Optimus stiffen.

Shelter from the sudden shower of splinters in which had burst the entry was out of his possibility, but Optimus Prime was forced to face a worse threat than a few little scratches in his armor.

A threat that had the bright, blue light of the plasma cannon that a raging Sunstreaker pointed to his face while a bleached Lucile asked from the protective grip in which Sideswipe had engulfed her to let him go.

Something the Autobot should have done, given their association, his role as a soldier and as his subordinate.

But, without knowing it, the leader of the Autobot had entered the dangerous and risky world of possibility where you could be lucky or not, and, judging by the flash of light that dyed his faceplate of a wild blue, that time, Optimus Prime was not among the lucky one.

* * *

*They are talking through the common-link.

Hi! It's me again! I'm late, I know, I know,but it's summer, and this one was a long and complicated chapter to write!

Anyway, I apologize for the wait!

So, about the chapter, as you can see it's Optimus/Lucile centric, as it should be.

I hope the leader of the Autobot was not out of character, and that the length of the chapter was not a problem, plus, regarding Lucile's powers, you'll gradually discover their origin, their limits and the trouble and the suffering they bring with them.

Next, there will be the awaited meeting between Optimus Prime and the twins, and there is only one word to resume it: _Fireworks!_

As always, I thank all those who had read the story, a little more who had commented it, and, in general, those who have peeked those pages.

See you next time!


	8. 8 - The way you decided to be

Deaf to the prayer. Blind to the pain. Blasé to the pleas for help.

Those and many others were the countless and unforgivable fault humanity had always recognized, since the dawn of its age, to what had always been considered the responsible for the decay of their civilization.

The world itself.

That hungry, merciless, selfish world that seemed to harbor a grudge towards their race, like they were its favorite victims for the whims that, at times, when the world felt to give the worse of itself, struck all of them in one fell swoop.

_Foolish, dupe, simple-minded fleshling._

It had always been hilarious and depressing even more for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe _how_ easily the human race could blame the rest, everything else, but never,_ never_ who was the really responsible for their own misfortune.

Themselves.

Always was. Always will.

But acknowledge it was too brave for them, after all, humans were too coward and stupid to accept their own fault, their lack and the truth about whom was the blind one, the deaf one since from the beginning.

They. All the time. In every age. In every time.

The world that they portrayed as rotten and merciless was, in fact, not such a cute and gentle place in the first place.

Never was. Never will.

So, expect _something nice_ from it was naïve and foolish.

Everything had to be earned, deserved, instead of given for granted in their universe.

Fight for whatever you wanted. That was the way, the only one to have something in that world.

Not whine and wait for something to happen.

But then, wait _for what_, exactly?

Help? _Magic? _

The guts to face the reality for how it was. That's it.

That was what was really needed, what had to be done, but humanity was a coward race, and blame the world had always been more easily, and more acceptable for each of them.

Such a cutting and harsh stance, but it was not a question of being cynical or disillusioned about the world's way of being, about its cruelty.

It was a mere question of realism.

Of how things really worked, despite all the frustration resulting from it.

After all, the world was no place where you could just _hope _to survive, not when it rested its burdensome and gawky form on an old and yet not much appreciated law.

That of the equivalent exchange.

Every culture, every civilization had had to deal with it, with that harsh rule.

It was like race in a vicious circle where you give what you receive, nothing more than that.

No false start. No shortcut.

So from nothing, nothing would come, nothing would have been demanded, and nothing would be given to you, but if you thought otherwise, if you prayed for something _better,_ then maybe you should be prepared to be disappointed from the beginning.

That was the law, how things worked in their universe, and the universe had never cared much about what _you_ wanted, what you preferred to receive, how painful it was for you to be so little and brittle.

Drama was therefore unnecessary, tragedy unacceptable.

It was reality, and as such nothing with which to bargain, no one would have a bargaining chip fairly valuable anyway.

Accept and acknowledge it was then the best choice before you became slave of it, of what you considered not your fault.

Before you began to justify_ everything. _

Such a soppy thing to do, _justify_, something that was unnecessary in their case, because it did not make sense justify the _perfection._

Violent, and merciless, unkind, cynical and cruel, sarcastic, they were all that and maybe more, sometimes, even something nastier and crueler, but, in all honesty, what could be more perfect than that?

Than them?

Unlike those cowardly fleshlings, they did not give an apologies or an excuse for their cruelty, they did not blame the world for their insanity, even when justify themselves could be so easy.

It would have been enough to talk about the history of blood the both of them shared during their childhood as gladiators, where you killed or were killed, to be forgiven.

_To be sympathize with._

It would have been enough that little sad story to fool the world, to legitimize Sideswipe's hunger for drama, and Sustreaker's hunger for violence, something for which they had made a bad name for themselves among the Autobot.

It was like a call, theirs.

A call to which violence, destruction and tragedy answered to, following them wherever they went, wherever they rested, wherever they decided to remain, like a cumbersome shadow.

A curse, maybe, but violence went where they went because they brought it _in_ and _with_ themselves.

All the time, they were tailed by the overwhelming restlessness that stirred Sideswipe's spark, and by the hunger of destruction that casted its dark shadow in Sunstreaker's cruel optics, a shadow that would always remember him and his brother, when a glimmer of hope lighten the dark road, of how _really _the both of them were, how they wanted to be, in the end, despite whatever the others could say.

Despite how cruel the others could become with them.

_As if they cared about that._

But maybe, blame the world could have spared them some pain, after all.

So why did not give an excuse? Especially when there was so much to give, so much lies to tell?

Why not?

Why not spared them the possibility of being judged again, of being isolated again? Of be reprimanded for their bad reputation?

_Because they liked it that way,_ that was the why, the reason.

The attention, as negative as it was, they wanted it, and the disapproving looks, they liked those too, as bad as they could be.

They liked all that, and it was exactly their narcissism, their very arrogance to bring the both of them to look for them.

For attention.

For drama.

For a reason to be watched.

And, as much as cynical and cruel and whatever more they could be, among the many names the Autobot could give them, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were no liars, and _they would lie_, yes, they would lie if they had said that it was not their fault, but of the hungry world, of the past, if they were as they were.

Such an unmanly and unfashionable excuse to give.

A fleshling's thing.

_Give excuse_.

They had it for everything, even for the past.

The past.

_Really?_

What had the past to do with them?

They were never and never wanted to be seen as a victim of anything, let it alone of the _past._

They were too magnificent and faultless for considering the world responsible of something that concerned the glorious them.

So, no poor and tragic souls who could do nothing to change their cruel world, for them.

No victim.

How could they be?

They were always the best, the lordly one, nothing low as what, a slave?

_Of course not._

They had always been the ruler of everything, even of the past.

The master of their own choices, and of their mistakes.

There was nothing to justify, nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of.

No one _worthy_ to obtain the credit for the way they were.

So, it was not their fault that where they had won, _as they always did_, other failed.

It was to be expected, of course.

They were faultless, unlike the other.

No one could be brave like them, so willing to give up the chance to be such a ridiculous and humiliating thing as being a causality of the cruel destiny.

No casualty, no error for them.

Just, pure perfection, no one of them would have accepted nothing less than that.

_To be the perfection._

Better of the rest.

They would then leave to the useless others the chance to be slave of the past.

They would leave to the good-for nothing to change their connotation like a shape shifters, to conform it depending the way they wanted the other to look at them, leaving it prey to the interpretation.

That way, the word victim, the word slave, such a degrading term again, that word could became the word _martyr,_ if they wanted to make it so, if they wanted to make it that way, because a martyr, as such, had to be justified for what he had done, pitied, sympathized with for what he had been through, something against which he was obviously powerless, useless.

After all, for him, for that poor martyr, there were no chances to choose how to be.

_Wrong._

There was always something to do, if one wanted to, all the rest were coward excuse, like that the where, when, and how a living being was born affected and _marked for life_ a creature's future way of being, his way of thinking, of act, of living, and even, the way he would die, one day.

It could, maybe, but only if you let it to be so.

Because if you wanted to change, then you change, and _that, that_ was the subtle difference between being the slave and the ruler of the past, and, consequentially, of the future.

_Of the world._

Therefore, who grew up in the whirlwind of war could bring peace in and with him, if he wanted to, and who was born in the heart of the violence would have lived and died like everyone else, if one had the force to change and accept himself despite all his ugliness, all that tiny spots, that dark shadows that were not the result of something, _because of_ something, if you wanted to see them for the way they were.

For what they always had been.

_Your own fault_, not of the world you could change, not of the wound you could mend.

The past was no shield under which hid themselves, their lack, _the way they were_.

It was a wrong, coward interpretation of whom did not want to accept his own fault, so much so to believe and made the other believe that a wounded being had no choice but to hurt others, that them, who lived and grew up in violence and war, had no choice but to be that way.

But, you see, everyone had a choice, everyone was wounded by someone, somehow, somewhere, the difference was that you could react or surrender to whatever had hurt you.

So, instead of leading your way, you would be lead somewhere, where you could became one of the many causality of destiny, a victim, an excuse, where you chose the easy way.

A fleshling's thing again.

_Everyone_ could make an excuse for themselves, complaining about how the world was too wrong, the people too cold, the life too hard, but yes, _yes_, it was so, it had always been so, _so what?_

It was nothing new that theirs was a world of trade where the exchange were made with everything, even with the feelings and their heart.

It was nothing to be surprised about, so what?

They had no chance but to be the result of a rotten system, of a wrong turn of the fate?

No, they were no slip, no error, they were too fabulous to be something like that, too magnificent to be something they did not want to be.

So, they had accepted it.

Themselves, their fault, the violence _inside _one and the restlessness inside the other, a long, long time ago_,_ a violence and turmoil that had nothing to do with the past, with the old wounds, but with the way they were.

_The way they decided to be._

They, who were born with nothing, and that nothing in return had demanded, like it should be, they had always been enough for each other anyway.

Always was, always will.

But then, then something came to them, someone had taken and hugged those empty handed servos, someone tiny, odd and kind who had turned upside down every law and belief about their inability to love something else beyond themselves.

Love. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had never loved anyone and anything.

Despised. Hated. Maybe even tolerate, but loved?

No way.

Destroy, kill and harm was more in their style. In their chords.

And yet, ever since the spark in her chest had called out for them, ever since she, that tiny and fragile little thing had looked at them with eyes so full of love to make them blind, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had learned to love and _to want_, to wish for something more from life.

A smile. A glance. A word. A laugh.

They had demanded, expected something from the world she had become for them, every time.

A world that had left the both of them bewildered, because hers, her world give without expecting anything in return, loved without expecting more love, lived without ask for their lives in return.

Anything she had done, anything Lucile had wanted since she had awakened, had been _for_ them, never, in exchange _of_ them.

She had been the glitch in the system, the exception to the rule, the alternative to the violence and the war.

That '_something better._

A new world for them, a world made for them to live, for them to love, for them to protect, to preserve with the same violence that had marked their life, the same violence they would have given to anyone who had tried to steal her from them, to threaten her safety.

_That,_ that was their vicious circle, their law.

You receive what you give to her.

And if it was pain, if it was fear, then the pain and the fear would be so deep and so strong to make you want to die, to make you beg for mercy.

But neither of them, nor Sunstreaker, nor Sideswipe, would have given it.

Not to the world, or a comrade, and neither to the universe itself.

All deserved to die, to be destroyed by their hands if one of those things had dared to come too close to their sparkling.

To threat their bond.

Nothing would be granted.

No mercy, no forgiveness, not if Lucile was on the scales, not when the weight of their love for her, of their devotion as creator, would made them prefer her to everything, everyone.

Even, to themselves.

A safe point.

Lucile had become what no one had tried to be for them, what no one had wanted, to be for them.

A safe point.

Little, quiet and kind enough to let them rest while sheltering them from the outside.

But rest, for them, did not seem to be among their chance.

Suffer, instead, suited them better.

And they had suffer, greatly, since their arrive to Earth, since humanity, the most selfish race they had faced in their lifespan, had claimed their safe point as their own.

Like a thing.

Like an object.

She was claimed, fooled, betrayed and then, then treated like a laboratory animals.

_Like a freak._

And they had felt her pain. Her _call._

_Her plead of help._

They had heard, and suffer, and _died_ at every whisper, every whimper that, thought their link, had made them aware of the pain they had caused to her, of _how much_ they had damaged their world.

That little, kind, and frail world that someone was trying to steal again from them.

Who, they did not care to know, because ruin will wait for them anyhow.

But the more their wheels marked the roads with the sign of their panic, the more the distance seemed to increase, sending them away from the right road to take, while, inside, in a shrill of pain and horror, the same desperate word was whispered by their quivering spark continuously.

_No_.

Not again.

No.

_Please._

_Let her go._

_Or hell will wait for you _hissed Sunstreaker in pure rage before his system recorded his sparkling voice a few steps away.

_A little while._

Just a little while and she will be safe in their arms, but he or Sunstreaker had had no time to feel the relief for that, for the thought to be_ almost _there when a second, familiar voice turned the relief in fear, the fear in bitterness, the bitterness in rage, and then, the madness took over the rest.

The pain. The fear. The rage.

All was gone, vanished, devoured by the violence that had eat up every inch of sanity from their processors before the towering and imposing mech of Optimus Prime entered their field of vision.

But even if their system had identified and_ recognized_ him, even if he was not detected as a threat, now there were no alliance, no obligation to hold back their rampage, only the whirling growl in their chest and the _need_ to crush whoever had dared to come near their world once again.

Even him.

Even Optimus Prime.

_\- I got her._

Sideswipe's breathless thought flew over Sunstreaker in a wave of relief that washed away the anxiety and fear in his pained optic like a huff of cold air, while the quivering voice of his spark echoed in his helm the same sentence as a tearful litany and the splinters of wood fell with a clatter on their armor.

_She is safe._

_She is safe_.

\- _She is safe –_ they repeated to each other through the common link in a sad song that their lips whispered lowly by instinct, before something else clicked in Sunstreaker processors.

And it was not pity, it was not forgiveness, only a low and familiar whisper of death that brought Sunstreaker to smile sharply at his kind and concerned leader before raising his right hand and then, _shoot._

The piercing stench of overheated metal sizzled the air like the sharp snap of a whip in a bubble of steam, but instead of a grimace, a displeased mask, a broader wicked smile pursed Sunstreaker's metallic lips in a crazy look that his twin made his own, lowering the mad gaze on the trembling little figure to whom he had just covered the eyes so to prevent her to see the blow, _and the pain that came with it._

Really _a lot_ of pain judging by the crash that Optimus Prime had with the hard ground, disbelief in the widened optics that reflected the merciless expression his Autobots gave him without a shadow of remorse in their pitiless form.

\- Papa?

Slowly, Sunstreaker lowered his stiff jaw and dark optics on the trembling hands that Lucile had moved blindly before her, as she was searching for something to grab, and when she did, the wicked curl of his metal lips softened in a gentle and fond smile that Sideswipe copied when Lucile hugged even his servos, a grip too frail and timid that the twins locked in a more firm grip to not let her go.

\- Papa? – she called again– Papa?

\- We are here sugar ball.

\- There nothing to be afraid anymore.

The darkness and the reassuring voice of her papa were the only thing she could grasp at the time, and usually, she needed nothing more than that to be at ease, nothing more than their grip and their voice, but this time she was not alone, they, were not alone, and when the harsh crack came to her ears, a flush of concern filled her blind eyes.

\- Don't hurt Orion papa, please, he is injured.

\- Orion? – inquired Sunstreaker with a dark frown, his servos stiffened in her trembling one.

\- Who is Orion Lucile?

\- My new friend. Please papa, he didn't try to hurt me, he's kind, I know it. I_ see_ it.

Silence, thick and heavy followed her plead, a request that, however, none of her creator will accomplish.

She knew it.

_She was sure of it._

But, even so, Lucile asked for it in the hope that maybe, maybe they will listen to her that time.

\- Friend? – grumbled Sideswipe in disbelief, his optics that fell on a battered Optimus Prime in wonder before a shadow of huff bite his vocal chords that came out in a shrill – _him_?

\- He is not your friend Lucile.

Awed by her papa's harsh and firm denial, Lucile shut her mouth in strain, blind and now deaf to the grumbling that echoed over her head.

Hiss. Growl, and verses of disapproval for which she cringed in the hug, disoriented by all that aversion towards someone they did not even know.

_Or maybe they did _whispered her conscience suspiciously.

Maybe he was not who she believed.

Maybe, maybe he was with the bad people.

_No._

_He was not one of them_ she fought over with her rational side.

Orion was not one of them.

Yes. He, he_-_

Lucile felt her eyes sting with tears when the certainty about it tripped over the circumstance that had brought her to him.

The helicopter.

She had followed the helicopter to send it away and hide her house from them, and, in doing so, she had meet Orion and a strange, disturbing mech that had made her skin crawl.

Then she had noticed that he was wounded, and alone.

All alone. And she, she had only wanted to help him.

So, if he really had been there to hurt her, _to bring her back, _ he would have done it from the beginning.

He-

A low and breathless noise put a brake to her rambling, but even if she could not see, even if her papa did not want her to look, she could still feel, she could still hear, and recognize and tremble, when her eyes burned with tears for the hiss of pain she knew, was Orion's.

\- Don't hurt him. _Please._

Silently, Sideswipe raised an interrogative gaze upon his twin, before drying her tears and use a playful tone to hold back the anxiety in his own chest.

\- No need to cry, sugar ball.

\- But he has not done anything to me – she complained in a strained voice, her little hands that, trembling, tried to push aside his fingers from her face so to see with her own eyes what they had done to her friend.

– Orion has not done anything to me. Please papa – and she searched, difficulty, to free herself from the grip and search for her new friend's sad face, but her papa turned around with her firmly tight in his arms just to prevent Lucile to see something of the ravage that surely his brother had done with that blow.

\- His name is not Orion, sugar ball. His name is Optimus Prime. And he is not an ally of us.

Lucile raised on his father a confused look instinctively, watching the dark void behind her closed eyelids for a long and deep moment of silence while Sideswipe's firm statement was lost in the grumbling of the cannon plasma that still fumed for the blow and Lucile, after a while, found finallly the voice and the courage to ask.

\- He is not? – she murmured, a voice too pained and afraid for Sideswipe to not be pained in turn.

Gently, he stroked her wet cheeks in the hope to erase the sad expression on her face and wash away her tears, but when his fingers reached the hairline, nothing changed.

Not the hurt in her voice.

Not the pain in her eyes.

\- Lucile –

\- He is not an ally? I… I was wrong again?

Sideswipe held back the burning instinct to sink his servo in Optimus Prime's chest and bring out his wires to let him feel the same pain he and Sunstreaker were feeling in hearing Lucile so broken.

So sad, so sorrowful for something that was never her fault.

Her kindness, was never a fault.

But it was so easy hurt her, so _slagging_ easy that for a moment, Sunstreaker was on the verge to approach the cannon to his leader's chest and click. One. Two. Three times, until nothing would be left of him.

Alluring, but not with Lucile close.

Never, with Lucile close.

\- Yes, why Big Boss? Why do something so foolish like give to my sparkling a fake name? What for? To make her follow you more easily, perhaps?

Sunstreaker's cutting remark and disrespectful title snatched the leader of the Autobot, who found it hard to focus on something beyond his pain, from the world of darkness in which he risked to drown, close how he was to go into stasis lock, but when the word '_sparkling_ echoed in his aching helm, his optics looked for the tiny form protectively held by Sideswipe, a cutting smile to meet his troubled gaze.

\- It's been a while, isn't, chief? – the red twin joked darkly, tightened the grip when his leader gaze fell upon his now sad and broken sparkling, hardening the playful shadow in Sideswipe's faceplate in a blink.

\- What the Pit are you looking at?

\- Yes. What the Pit are you looking at, Big Boss? – Sunstreaker echoed sharply after his brother, recharging the cannon and blowing a shot in one quick and sudden move that tore more than a jolt of surprise that time.

A flash of light, nothing more than that, and the leader of the Autobot found himself falling to the ground once again with one, instead of two arms.

A laugh, low and frosty escaped from Sunstreaker's smiling lips after the blow hit and_ crumbled_ the armor of a shocked Optimus Prime like the crash of a thunderbolt, snatching to the red twins at his side an excited look when the revolting smell of burnt wires and molten metal tickled their hungry processors while Sideswipe's hand was still before Lucile's eyes, and now, even her nose.

Because that smell was nauseating, and loathsome. It was hard to digest.

It could not be another way for who weren't accustomed to that bitter and sharp scent, but for those who had filled their lungs with the poisoned and horrid stink since birth, that bloodcurdling smell had the piercing and nostalgic taste of home.

Yes. They _liked _that scent because it tasted of home.

A home always on fire, always on the verge of collapse beneath and upon their helm, a home that was lost in the thick darkness of the black smoke that had engulfed the straight and clean dwelling of each Cybertronian before blinding their optics and darken their once clean spark.

_As their spark had ever been white and shiny _ Sideswipe's biting conscience grunted sarcastically while Sunstreaker filled his throat with a growl that whistled through his clenched teeth like the hissing of a snake.

\- Want to play with us, Big Boss? But I must warn you, one wrong answer to my question, and you'll have one of everything, in the end.

Optimus Prime hissed in rage for the pain and the frustration of being once again helpless, growling dangerously to cut out the snickering of the twins while his remaining good hand tried to touch the corroded metal of his side, where he could not feel anything more.

_Because one of his Autobot._

The bitterness for the blow, for the _betrayal_ slipped inside his chest like a poison able to corrode his gears, awakening his hatred towards himself and his continuous failing, his fault, his incapacity to save his Autobot before falling in the darkness of death and hatred.

-Do we have a deal?

The squeaky creaking of joints and the stern look that Optimus Prime gave him when he managed to sit up were acknowledged by Sunstreaker with a bored look before the warrior softened once again the sharp corner of his mouth in a concerned smile when his optics fell on the little sparkling his brother was hugging gently.

\- Go Lucile.

\- Go? – echoed the little girl in her shaking voice, a ring to his processors able to shake his very being while Sideswipe's hand slipped to cover her cheek in a comforting motion.

Blinking, Lucile stared disoriented to nothing in particular for a while before her eyes met those stiff and sever of her creator – Go where papa?

\- To the woods. Hide where you usually hide when we played hide and seek.

Silence followed his order, his firm command, like a heavy blanket thrown on her head, a tangle of anxiety and concern from which Lucile could not escape, or extricate herself.

She could do nothing at all.

Not about the anger of her papa that blew in her chest like the howl of a wolf, not about the painful wounds of her new friend that made her eyes sting.

She felt everything so _distinctly_ to forget that she was not the one without an arm.

Because she felt his pain. His sorrow.

And their rage.

His bitterness and their huff.

His and theirs dismay for the betrayal received.

But who had betrayed who?

Him? them?

Her papa? Orion?

But then, it was really his name? Orion?

Had he lied to her?

Or was her papa hiding something from her?

Because they would have done it, if the truth could damage and hurt her.

What was the truth?

Lucile asked, and thought, and reasoned, but even if she would have used her voice to do the questions, no one will answer her.

And she needed to know.

She needed to know if she was wrong again, if she had endangered their safety again, without thinking, selfishly.

She _needed_ to know if it was her fault _again_.

Tears burned her eyes when the guilt filled her mouth with apologies that did not come out, her mind that asked, and searched and _begged_ for an answer, a break to the despair that risked of drowning her.

Had she really done it again?

Was he their enemy?

Was Orion one of the bad people that had hurt her?

Was he?

Even thinking about it made her want to cry, to ask _why._

Why he lied to her? Why the world tried to hurt her papa?

What had she done to them?

_What had they done to them?_

Wounded by the incoming fear to be at fault again and overwhelmed by the guilt for what her papa had done to him because of her rashness, Lucile sought the face of her creator with grief and regret despite the comforting and cold touch of Sideswipe's hand tried to reassure her, while she curled up in a tiny and trembling little ball to confine all that feelings inside her.

Hers and theirs.

All must be isolated, locked up in a corner of her mind to not break herself and them, she just needed to breathe and inhale deeply.

In and out.

In and out.

She tried, hard, to shut away all that pain, and grief, and sorrow, but the guilt managed to escape from the drawer where Lucile envisioned to close them every time, slipping through her fingers and stirring the liquid pain in her eyes, asking questions about something she did not dare to give a voice.

Like, how could she do that again to them?

_How could she?_

Reckless.

Her papa had always reprieved her for that, for being reckless, and too kind, too naïve, but this time she was so sure that he was not bad, she had even_ seen_ it, she had made sure of it.

Had she been wrong about him?

Had he lied to her?

But he seemed so kind, and gentle, that she, she wanted to help him.

She just wanted to help.

_She always just wanted to help._

\- Did I do something wrong again?

The tiny whimper was recorded by Optimus's audio receptors with a sore spasm of his spark, a painful twitch that weakened his spirit and resolve while the mechs in front of him seemed to lose all the wildness in their optics and in the curve of the lips that Sunstreaker contracted in an aching smile.

\- Oh no, sugar ball, no no no – came the broken-hearted voice of Sideswipe, optics alight with the grief that her quivering voice and the hopeless look in her eyes detonated in his constricted chest– no, you did nothing wrong.

\- Don't – Sunstreaker whispered in a lament, so softly to not be heard from anyone beyond himself, tightening the hand in a fist when the need to scoop up her cheeks in his servo and clean her tears led him to turn his back to the wounded Prime on the ground as he was something easy to forget.

And it was, yes, it was easy for him to forget about him, about his leader, the rampage, the rage, the need to crush his helm into his servos for touching his sparkling, it was normal, _it was obvious_, if Lucile needed him.

The Prime could even take that granted moment to strike him and escape but Sunstreaker, he would continue to go to her, with one arm, one leg, he didn't care.

He would continue to forget about him, about the world, about anything, if she need to be reassured.

Turn his back. Look forward. Stretch out his hand in a caress.

Those were the only thing he had to do now.

Not to look behind him when he heard the heavy breath and the tentative steps with which Optimus had raised once again, not to do anything more than what he was already doing, touch her face, and search for the shiny eyes that Lucile half-closed when he braced her other cheek in his cold but kind servo.

\- Shush now. You do not have to worry about that anymore.

\- He is right you know? – chuckled Sideswipe in a low whisper, kissing her wet cheeks to exorcise with the act his and her sorrow- It's our job to worry about you and those things you know? Not the opposite. You just go and hide, we will take of the rest here.

\- But-

\- Do as we said Lucile. There is nothing you could do.

It was true.

She could do nothing about it.

Stop them from hurt Orion. Stop Orion from hurt them.

She did not have the power, now, to reason with them, to make them see how similar to each other they were.

Locked in a fantasy, mashed by the world, wounded and in search of a safe place where to be happy.

Alike, but too blind now to see the similarities like her.

She, who, however, despite all the knowledge, could do nothing about it.

\- It'll be alright.

Sudden and unlooked for.

It was less than a whisper, a throaty and tired huff, but a brittle sound that Lucile followed even knowing what she will found at the end of it, what she will meet.

Orion's eyes.

His tired, jaded, and pained eyes that still looked at her with kindness, with that puzzling gentleness able to make her eyes sting.

He, made her heart sting.

And she felt the urge, the need, at that moment, to tell him to go away, that he was not safe there anymore, that she, could not keep him safe anymore, not when she was back to be a child, a little girl who could do nothing more than smile at him helplessly and do as she was told.

When the bushes welcomed her racing figure Lucile wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her now dirty pinky dress to see where she was going while she ran fast, as fast as she could since that was the only thing she could do for him, for his friend and his creator.

For herself.

But it was when she was about to vanish in the wood, it was when she was sure to be just a step away from her hidden spot that she had the last wish to turn and tell, tell Orion with her glossy eyes that she was happy to have known him, to have talked to him, to have been his friend, even if for a little.

And that, that it was not his fault.

It was not anyone's fault.

It was just, it was just that the time was wrong, the wound too fresh, and the pain too deep for them to do anything else than fight and make war.

Nothing else.

It was just not their time, perhaps.

But maybe it will be one day.

_Yes_ she thought sadly before jump forward and vanish in the thick vegetation.

Yes.

_Maybe another day._

A gust of wind carried away with it the sound of her shaky footsteps, a breath of warmth that slipped away with her when the silence crashed hardly on their helm, and all the kindness, all the softness was wiped away from their eyes to be replaced with the poison that dipped Sunstreaker's of a new fatal hatred.

\- So, what bring you this far Big boss? – he inquired darkly, giving the back to the woods to move a couple of steps that brought him to his right side.

\- Yes chief, what bring you this far? Did you miss me? – joked Sideswipe in a light and playful voice, the shift of his weight from one foot to the other apparently with no purpose, but Optimus _knew_ how dangerous their jokes could be.

How far they could bring him, even to death, if he had lowered his guard, even for a moment.

How much it could cost him.

Maybe, his other arm, or worse.

_His spark shattered in their restless servos._

\- Or did you just want to say hello to us? - kept on the younger one, now to his left in one fluid last step.

\- He seems to run out of word, brother.

\- That would be a first.

\- How mean of you Sunny! The chief is simply baffled for our stunning beauty.

\- Of course he is.

Theirs was a haunting sing- song,

Hollow and icy.

Their voice, their optics, all seemed frozen and hardened.

Not one drop of the unexpected gentleness they had poured on Lucile's head like a waterfall of sugar was left.

All was gone, rotted.

And the rapidity with which the warmth left them was disturbing, but Optimus Prime, in all honesty, was not surprise to receive all that unjustified hatred, because, for them, it was not.

_Never_ unjustified.

More than once he had had to deal with their distorted view of reality, of the world around them.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had always been an item among the Autobot, a wicked and treacherous item.

Unmanageable.

It was so control their whim, their rampage.

It had always been too wearisome to be heard from them, even for his oldest and strongest warrior, Ironhide, put them in their place was an unattainable outcome, and despite all his effort and the growing frustration and diligence, he had never been able to put an end to their rashly behavior, not without a fight.

A deadly, fight.

Each of his Autobot, even he had almost _died_ because of their lack of interest towards the world, toward their own comrade.

Because fight with them meant to fight alone, backless, with the chance to be stabbed and left alone to bleed to death.

Disturbing how the both of them could have such a low consideration of the lives of other, but among the many, many horrible things they were and could became, their most disturbing trait were the optics.

Blank, unfeeling and icy cold.

The twin's optics had always had the ability to disturb Optimus Prime to the core.

There was too violence, too greed in them to accept.

Their cruelty made him displeased, uneasy and almost _resentful._

Because look in those heartless optics was like look in the mirror that Optimus had covered a long time ago, an identical and simple mirror in which, however, he had always feared to be reflected, petrified of what he could find, of what he could recognize, _want._

Troubling, and disreputable.

Indecorous.

No one should look like, _like some black-hearted beast_.

_Like a Decepticons._

An Autobot should not become such dark being.

They could not for their very title, their _status_, but the shiny and angry emblem on their flashy armor roared that even if they were the good ones in name, they could be cruel and destructive as the bad ones in facts.

And maybe, _maybe_ even the Decepticons could be more loyal than them, in the end.

But despite it all, Optimus Prime needed to reach out for them as their leader before it was too late, before they could do more harm to themselves and to the little shadow he had followed with a sorrowful gaze until she vanished to his sight, something of which, of course, both the twins had noticed.

_Of course they did._

And they did not like it. Not even a little bit.

\- Did we give you the permission to look at our sparkling, Big Boss?

Slowly, Optimus flexed his right arm to tight the grip on the sword's hilt while the tip traced an arc on the soft ground to follow the wander of canny steps of the yellow twin who had just spoken.

\- Trick little sparkling. _Really_ chief? What questionable hobby you have here.

\- Maybe the scum you called _friends _had passed you their silliness.

\- Human are all Autobot's friends – Optimus Prime pointed up grimly, but what he gained were not nods of assent but cutting laughs and sneering gazes.

\- Friends? – Sideswipe mocked him, crossing his arms and the sharp blade that were now an inch from Optimus's face – They are too stupid to be mine.

Patience.

_He had to have patience with the both of them_ he reprimanded himself harshly, pushing away with one servo the blade from his face to be able to look straight in the optics of his rebellious Autobot.

\- They helped us retrieve the matrix.

\- So what?

Caught off guard by the childish outburst and the bored expression on the red twin's faceplate, Optimus struggled to keep the hold on the blade Sideswipe lowered to his sides while Sunstreaker, who had witness in silence the talk, weighed his leader with narrowed and suspicious optics.

\- So what chief? – hissed Sideswipe in revolt, a whirling growl in his throat - This is _nothing_ compared to what they had done to_ us_.

\- To you? What have they done to you? – he asked with a troubled frown, his voice so sincerely confused and thunderstruck to tore an annoyed look from Sunstreaker who, finally, asked the question that pressed against his helm for a while.

\- Don't you _really_ know about it?

Both Optimus and Sideswipe turned to face an upset Sunstreaker with identical lost expressions, but if the first still struggled to grasp the meaning of that strange question , the last one catch it like a bad joke.

\- Of course he knows, Sunny. He _works for_ them. He had to know about it.

\- About what Sideswipe? What have they done to you?

Chuckling, the red twin flashed a sneering smile to his brother, but when Sunstreaker did not return it, all the mordacity died in Sieswipe's optics and in the curl of his metal lips.

\- Are you trying to be funny, chief? – he laughed hysterically, his sharp features that slowly shriveled into a mask of pure rage – Because you're not funny. Not at all.

Frowning darkly, Optimus weighed the madness that scratched his optics like a pulsating wound, tightening the grip on the hilt of his sword in response to the jittery of his servos.

\- I'm not, Sideswipe.

\- So – Sunstreaker thought aloud with a pensive and mocking voice, resuming the wander – you did not_ know_ that the fleshlings had taken by force our little sparkling from us, Big Boss?

\- Lucile… was taken by force…by human?

How much pain could a single sentence bring?  
Too much for Optimus Prime to bear, to take in, but when Sideswipe whirled on himself to sink in his shoulder one of the blade with a growl, his kneels give away to a flash of real physical pain.

When the glorious form of Optimus Prime folded itself in a wretched set of scratched metal under their pitiless gazes, Sunstreaker allowed himself a satisfied smile before his brother removed the blade with one painful yank that gave to the leader another motive to sink his fingers into the ground to recompose himself without a lament.

\- Do you not dare to say her name in my presence– he spat upon his lowered head, intolerance to make him tight hysterically the servos in trembling fist – the fact that you did not know about what that scum did to Lucile make you unworthy to say her name in our presence, but worthy enough for everything I could do to you for atone the sins of your little friends.

\- Don't you believe us, Big Boss? – questioned Sunstreaker harshly, swinging the plasma cannon with a bored expression – Or maybe, you don't _wan_t, to believe us. Which one is the right choice?

\- This can't be. They-

\- What ? –snapped off Sideswipe – what can't be chief? The fact that your precious little friend _have _ imprisoned, tortured and wounded my sparkling? Or the fact that they_ have_ treated her as a freak? Which one Chief?

\- Yes, which one Big Boss?

_Lies_. They were lying to him.

It could not be true.

It could not be possible that the Nest or the human had done what they said.

He could not accept it. There was no chance for him to believe it.

_Too far_. They had gone too far with their joke.

And they would pay for it. For sure.

It was then with the determination and authority of the leader, with the will of the strongest among them that Optimus Prime rose in all his imposing form, without an arm, and with a painful wound on his side, to tower over the yellow mech who chuckled darkly despite the hard glint in his leader's optics.

\- Arrest this foolish behavior. _Now._

Their jaw twitched nervously when the twins caught and recognized the danger in the calm statement of their now threatening enemy.

A statement, not a request.

Like they had no say in the matter.

Like they had no choice but to do as he said.

_Humiliating._

The burning rage of just being scolded like stupid younglings made the twins growl dangerously, the rage to cloud their mind in a tangle of alarm for the threat he represented for them, in that moment, with that look, as the strongest of them, and the intolerance of being subjected to his useless rules.

_As if they could take order by that fleshling lovers._

\- Our loyalty did not lie in you anymore, Optimus Prime, so you could not give order to us anymore– Sunstreaker hissed spiteful, a flash of wild blue to light up the harsh expression of his comrade when the cannon whistled angrily for a new blow – Did you not believe us, _your kind_?

\- Did you really prefer to believe to that scum? – snarled Sideswipe out of himself, the blade ready to sink that traitor's spark before an unexpected punch hurled him against a tree, and he was ready for another blow toward the yellow twin, Optimus really was, but even before he could grasp the grimace of Sunstreaker and his servos that covered his chest in pain, there was a scream.

Shrill and penetrating like a stiletto planted in the helm.

A piercing female scream that made him drop his sword with a terrified mask of dread before Sunstreaker and Sideswipe threw a horrified look to the wood where the sharp noise faded slowly, leaving behind only the agony from which Sunstreaker recovered first.

\- I told you to be careful to dodge the blow, you stupid brother.

\- I…I'm sorry.

\- Your excuses are useless if you can't follow a simple request!

\- But I-

\- What just happened?

Jointly, the twins turned their angry optics to the distraught face of Optimus Prime, tall and firm in all his height but so brittle, now, with that distressed gaze that seemed to beg, instead of ask, the answer for his question.

\- None of you slagging business Boss– and Sunstreaker empathized the title with a mocking tone while he reached his brother to put him on his pedes and the scream in Optimus's helm kept on reverberate, crumbling everything with which it clashed in advancing.

The lie he told himself.

The composure he was faking.

Everything crumbled, collapsed without a sound, while the fear ate the corners of his lips and the guilt dyed his optics of distraught.

He had struck her.

_He had hurt Lucile._

How, he did not know, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore.

Because the revelation was so painful for Optimus, so dramatically heinous to have the effect of a straight blow to his spark, a flick that made him collapse like a castle of cards.

Frozen.

Optimus Prime could feel every gear, every bolt, and every shred of his spark freeze in pain, in horror, in dismay, while the word pierced his helm, burned his ground, and shattered his being.

His world.

All fell. He fell. To the ground. On his knees. Hard.

Optimus Prime fell, but this time, not for a blow, not for a mortal wound, not for the tiredness.

He fell under the weight of the only world he strived hard to see right and fair, but that was not.

No. It wasn't.

Because the pain he found in Lucile's eyes. All that fear, the grief, the worry, all had sense, and had a culprit, now.

The bad people had finally a name, a face, and when the sky thundered of the clamor of the helicopter that was still searching for him, they even had a form.

And he was tired, too tired to want to fix it.

He was just too tired, and lonely, now, to fix everything.

\- Do what you please.

With arched eyebrows and baffled optics, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe recorded the tired whisper of their kneeling leader while their audio receptors buzzed with the call of the fleshing the both of them observed from below, silence to fill their eyes and throat, for once.

But it lasted less than a jiff, a blink of optics that they granted to each other before the cannon, aimed now to the sky, _to the helicopter_, rekindled itself with a hiss of ignition and a pair of sharp blades trapped Optimus Prime's bowed head into a deadly grip.

\- You can count on it, Chief.

When Lucile heard the sound of footsteps not far away from her hiding place, she peeked through the tall grass in which she was crouched with anxiety while the cold wind blew strongly upon her messy hair, bringing before her wide eyes some locks entangled with leaves.

She waited, silently, that whoever was coming towards her crossed the line of tree that surrounded the glade to revel themselves in the dying light, and when the familiar showy armor of her papa sparkled under the sun, Lucile wasted no time to run toward them with a relieved smile.

Instinctively, Sunstreaker stretched out his arms to catch and bring Lucile to his chest in one fluid and familiar movement without stopping his pace, Sideswipe who walked by his side like a shadow to smile in return.

\- Papa?

\- Yes Lucile – Sunstreaker answered quietly, the arm strong and safe around her little form, and his gaze set on the horizon.

\- Where is Orion?

\- To take a long, long nap – Sideswipe joked with an arrogant smile, but when the red twin caught the petrified look of his sparkling, and after a blow with the elbow by his twin, he flashed her a mortified smile.

\- Don't look like that, sugar ball, I didn't mean what you think, Optimus is-

\- He got what he asked for and what he deserved, but he is not dead. So, there was no need for you to concern yourself with this anymore.

Lucile looked down with a weak nod, unable to hold up his stern gaze or ask what they had exactly done to Orion, or Optimus.

She didn't know anything anymore.

\- Look what I have for you, sugar ball.

Sideswipe smiled a real, soft smile when the sad shiny eyes of his sparkling looked back at him, and when they lighted up before the tiny backpack he swung on his index, a bubble of warmth burst inside his and his brother chest like a balloon.

\- My backpack!

\- Yes, sugar ball – he chuckled relieved - Are you happy? I and your grumpy papa had prepared it for our new trip.

\- Where are we going? – she asked after a little while of silence, letting go of Sunstreaker when he placed her on the ground to take his alternate form and Sideswipe did the same.

\- Wherever you want to go – Sunstreaker replied with a smile in his voice, opening for her the car door.

\- I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.

A little smile pinched her cheeks when Lucile heard the roar of the engine, the bang and the mutter of Sideswipe all in a row while she, with her eyes closed, focused on her human appearance to get in the car.

\- It_ hurt _brother!

\- It had to hurt, you stupid brother of mine! I had not asked you – replied sharply Sunstreaker to the huff of Sideswipe– I had asked Lucile.

\- It's ok with me papa.

\- See – whistled the red twin victoriously, honking – It's fine with her.

\- Are you sure Lucile?

\- I'll go everywhere as long as you are with me papa.

\- Aww…_That's. so. sweet_! Came here and give me a big hug, sugar ball.

Giggling, Lucile approached the windshield to kiss and hug it, triggering many and loud '_smooch smooch_ through the speaker that Sunstreaker silenced with a hiss before hit his brother with the flashing and take in Lucile.

\- Stupid.

\- You're just jealous that Lucile give me a hug, _you poor thing,_ want one of my smooch smooch Sunny?

A new strong blow to the hood, and Sunstreaker speeded with the whining of his brother as musical accompaniment while the belts hugged her form and Lucile threw a last sad gaze behind before being cradled by the low and gentle voice of Sunstreaker that whispered that she was safe.

They were all safe now.

* * *

A jolt. A snarl. A jolt. A snarl.

It went on like that for hours now, but whenever the freighter bounced for the violence of the storm they were going through, the huge shadow at the end of the cargo could not refrain himself from growling and snarling under the uneasy gaze of the soldier that sat not far away from the growling monster.

\- Someone had to talk to him.

\- Are you offering as a volunteer, soldier?

Inhaling sharply, the sandy blond young man who has just muttered under his breath the irritate hint rose his chin with a nervous thick of lips, his eyes huge as a tennis ball, a twitch that Captain William Lennox, crouched on the opposite side of the cargo, froze with his stern gaze before the soldier looked away in shame, with a tense knot in the throat.

\- I'm not, Sir.

\- Then shut your damn mouth, soldier. And keep quiet for a _fucking_ second. Do we understand each other?

\- Yes, Sir.

And with that, the sandy blond man who had not stopped talking for a _whole_ hour of travel did as he was told.

He shut his damn mouth, he kept quiet, and whenever his lisp seemed about to open again, the gruff look of his comrades sealed them like a red wax seal on a letter.

So, finally, with a little bit of_ silence_, Captain Lennox allowed himself a deep sigh of relief before the thundering of a close lightening and the resulting snarl of the Autobot brought him to his feet.

\- We're almost there, Ironhide.

Silently, as in one of those macabre scenes from horror movies, the quiet and thick darkness of the cargo that had swallowed and dispelled the giant robot, making him invisible, but still audible, was cut from two startling bright blue eyes that made the soldier squeak like little girl when the Autobot looked down.

\- This thing you call plane goes too slowly for my standard.

\- And yet it's the fastest way we have to reach Optimus.

\- Mhhmm – Ironhide huffed ,sneering, raising a index to hit with the knuckle the wall of that little jar he was in, and when it hunched the metal, a new choir of squeals snatched from his lips a '_sissies,_ before his gaze went back on the only human he respected in that crowd of slackers.

\- Still too slow for me.

\- Two minutes and we landed, Sir – came the scratchy voice of the pilot through the speakers, an announcement that brought the men to sigh in relief and the Autobot to get up with a low hiss while Lennox stare the pouring rain falling down from the little window and then, sigh in turn.

\- See? We're arrived.

The floor merely trembled when the belly of the plane was scratched by the head of the trees Ironhide saw parading under his stiff gaze, his servos closed in fist along his side while the audio receptors reproduced the anonymous signal that he and Nest had caught a couple of hours before, an indecipherable frequency through it was required help to Bear Creek, Texas, _immediately._

Suspicious, given the unknown source of the signal and the failed identification of who had asked for help, but it was impossible that someone had hacked the system, passed the security codes and then, infiltrating in their frequencies without triggering no alarm, but for Ironhide, it had been enough to know that the place where the signal was given was Optimus's landing point to raise his aft and enter the mode 'hit and beat as many Decepticon as you can".

So? A coincidence?

He did not believe so, neither Captain Lennox, and the ravage that showed up before them when the hatch opened, _that_ proved him right.

So no.

_No coincidence._

\- What the _hell _happened here? Compared to this debacle, my sixteen daughter's room is clean as a dentist's clinic!

Lennox did not have the strength nor the will to hush that chatterbox of a soldier, not when _even_ him, though accustomed to the battlefield, could not help but be _baffled_ before that sea of uprooted, crushed naked tree that was now his new floor.

Shrugging the astonishment, however, he resumed the control, pulling out the gun and raising one arm to give orders to his now quiet soldiers.

\- Keep your eyes open men, we are moving. Ironhide, lead the way.

\- Already done fleshly– the giant Autobot growled, activating his weaponry with a low hiss and outdistancing the soldier of a good handful of meters with one simple step.

\- That … that is cheating!

\- Shut the damn mouth and walk, soldier.

\- Yeah, yeah.

-_ What?_ Can you repeat? I don't think I've heard _right_ the first time.

\- Yes, sir.

\- Now, if you _allow me – _and Lennox did not hide the sarcasm in his voice – we'll go.

\- Yes sir.

A choir of that, and like a flow of oil, the soldiers dispersed themselves in several directions, maintaining the same height to draw a straight line and check every part of the thick woods and leaving no stone unturned.

But if the soldiers could only inspect a couple of meters at time, Ironhide had already analyzed the surrounding with his scanner, not finding anything else but tree. And trees, and, guess what?

_Yes. More trees._

It did not seem that there were more than those slagging ones there, but he was in a forest, _it was obvious _that there were trees everywhere, yet, he _knew _that there was something else, hidden somewhere, and it was when Ironhide decided to take as reference the little city in the background that he finally found _that something else_, and, even if it was not easy to impress him, even if he had seen worse, the burned bodies he found between the sheets metal of a crashed helicopter made him stop on his track.

\- Ironhide!

Breathless for the run, William Lennox was forced to pause and take a couple of deep breath before resume the chase, while the soldier at his back followed his example after completing their inspection.

\- Hey! Ironhide! Did you find something? Because we don't – slowly, so slowly to become a frame of a movie in slow motion, William Lennox decreased the speed of the run little by little, allowing his men to catch him and then, plant the heels of the boots into the ground when they stopped, abruptly, in their track with a strangled breath.

\- What is _that?_

_\- _Dead bodies – replied Ironhide in a quiet voice, scanning the sheets metal with a dull look.

\- I know what they are, _I see it _you big insensitive jerk – screamed the sandy blond man that now did not seem to give much importance to the height and the possibility to be crushed under his big foot for being so insufferable – I'm asking how and _who_ did this?

\- Decepticons? – Lennox hypothesized in a low whisper.

Decepticons?

Ironhide turned the question to his processors over and over again, storing and comparing every detail with his memories and knowledge as a soldier, but the more he saw, the more a troubling and disturbing thought took a root in his mind.

Because he knew _too well_ what weapon could cause such burns and hole, and it did not belong to anyone of the Decepticons he knew.

But it can't be.

_No_ he growled sharply, looking away with his lips tighten sternly in a fit of intolerance.

_It can't be._

\- Yes. Decepticons.

Lennox took the information with a nod, motioning then his men to advance.

\- Let's go.

\- Yes Sir.

Silently, they resumed the walking a little closer and more careful now that the culprit of that horror had a name and a new level on their meter of danger, while the picture of those burned bodies brought them to tight the grip on their rifles.

Because, if _that _was only the trawl of the ravage the Decepticons had brought to that land, then, what awaited ahead would be awful.

And it was. Yes. It was.

Awful. Disturbing and, not less upsetting for Ironhide when the battered shape of his leader entered his field of vision.

_It can't be._

That faint whisper in his helm, and Ironhide throw himself like a tank in a desperate race that brought him to the side of a wounded, beaten and moribund Optimus Prime with optics fill of dread.

Trembling, the weapons specialist lifted the dented head of his leader with care, disbelief in his lips and rage in the curse he snarled before hitting and trying to meet the dull light in his leader's half-closed optics.

\- Don't you dare glitch on me Prime! Or I'll hit you so hard that the Pit will look like a walk on the moon for you!

\- What happened to him? – breathed Lennox with a face so pale that he seemed on the verge of throwing up while Ironhide, after a few more curse and a loud knock on Optimus's face, picked up the battered leader before resuming quickly the walking.

\- _Get out of my way_!

Quickly, the soldier jumped to the side to dodge the giant pedes that, however, the sandy blond man stared dumfounded before the Autobot, chewing another curse, walked him around with his optics flaming and his voice thundering words that made them jump out of their skin.

\- Move, or I swear on Primus that I'll turn and step on you like in a grape harvest, and believe me_, it won't be nice! _

_\- _He knows what a grape harvest is? – questioned the sandy blond man in a whisper before his captain yanked him by the arm, yelling order and curse over his shoulder.

\- Do you hear the angry mech? Move if you don't want to become the pebbles in his shoes!

Lennox did not have to say anything more to give them a good reason to move their asses and run as fast as they could.

And they ran.

Lennox ran.

The blond man that the captain was dragging with him ran.

And when the pilot heard the roar of the giant mech, he did not wait to understand what he was growling.

It was enough the snarl in his headphones to made his hand move fast on the control plan while the soldiers, rolling on the floor, ended with their belly up in the air and the raspy voice of an old drunk.

\- We did it.

\- Yes – the captain rasped, running out of air in his lungs to say something more, but when his eyes fell on the strongest and fairer being he had known in his life, who now, was lying limply on the ground, he winced.

Because Optimus's eyes, though half-closed, though cloudy, resembled the eyes of those who had gone into a war that they had not won, in the end.

Full and empty at the same time.

Disturbing.

\- _Slag it._

With a hiss, Ironhide gave up his clumsy first aid, useless, given that he was better to cause damage than heal the wounds, so he did the only thing he could do at the time, search angrily for Ratchet's voice on the common-link while his hand stirred on the scratched and wounded chest of Optimus with nervousness.

And he waited, he waited to have something, _anything_ to do instead to be hopeless and useless, but the storm disturbed the signal, undoing his attempts to hold back the fear he had never felt before, not even when Cybertron fell.

Because Optimus_ was,_ Cybertron, he was the law, and if he died, their race will be gone, forever, with him.

\- Stupid moony planet! – he hissed in a fit of frustration, his optics fixed angrily on the rain while the energon in his ventilation system boiled for the rage that risked to blow up his spark.

\- Where Am I?

Blinking, the weapons specialist followed the weak waft with the air of who could not believe what he had just heard, but when his optics met the cloudy gaze of Optimus Prime, Ironhide could not help but murmur another curse and focus on his disoriented expression with a grimace.

\- Good morning sunshine. Better me than Ratchet as the first thing to see after a long recharge, don't you think?

_Ironhide._

The name flashed in Optimus Prime's processors like a lightening, but his system was too damage and he too tired to catch everything his old friend said, or what was around him, in all honesty.

The world for him, now, had in fact become a black hole with faint shade to distinguish the outline of things, like Ironhide's faceplates and a wall of darkness upon and around him, but nothing more.

He was numb.

Even his feelings were dull and gray.

And his attention lasted too little to allow him more than a flash of momentary conscience, but if he could not catch the outside, his inside had still the strength to move his lips and ask question for him.

\- How do you find me?

\- We picked up your signal for help.

Signal.

Optimus frowned, and hissed in pain when his faceplates complained about that normal but now, painful act, while his tired mind tried to give a sense to Ironhide's statement.

A signal he said.

He had sent no signal, his conditions would not allow him to do something so stressful, his system would have yielded even before he could try it, so no, he had sent no signal.

So who?

The twins?

An harsh smile curled his chipped lips while a laugh thundered in his chest.

A laugh that, however, did not reach his eyes.

The twins had sent the signal?

Out of question.

That show of mercy was so out of their characters. It was unlikely.

But if neither him nor the twin had sent the signal, then who could have been?

Who had wanted to h-

_\- Do you need help?_

A kind smile.

Gentle eyes.

A soft voice.

His optics, his audio receptors, his spark, all came back to life with a spasm, a flash of light that blinded his processors, paralyzing his system that, however, was fast enough to pick up the pictures of a messy head bent to the side, a smile softened in underestimation, and an outstretched hand for him to grab, and tight and held.

_And to let go, in the end._

He had let her go.

He had hurt her, and yet, she still had tried to help him, to keep him safe as she had promised before, while he, _he_-

_-… fleshlings had taken by force our little sparkling from us,…_

The pain in Sunstreaker's voice, Optimus had not catched it earlier, but know, in his daze, he could_ feel_ and _see the_ pain, the aching, the despair hidden among the curves of those letters.

And then, before he could prevent it, Optimus Prime was twirling in a kaleidoscope.

He twisted. Turned. Stopped, and then, twisted again, while the light became dim, the voice stronger, and the eyes too weak to see what he had not had the will to see.

_To believe._

_\- … I'm sorry. Please, don't be afraid…I'm sorry. I will not do it again so, so don't be afraid, please…_

So brittle, so frail.

And while new voices, new faces pretended his attention, his spark cried in pain and he was so sorry_, so sorry _for everything.

The twin's aching smile.

Lucile's sad gaze.

His own misery.

It was his fault.

Too weak to protect his Autobot from human hatred.

Too coward to accept the shades instead of the black and white.

Too blind to see what had always been there, what could have saved her, if he looked better, at the time.

_-…What can't be chief? The fact that your precious little friend have imprisoned, tortured and wounded my sparkling? Or the fact that they had treated her as a freak? Which one Chief?_

_\- Yes, which one Big Boss?_

\- He is awake.

Optimus Prime blinked.

Once to free himself from the darkness of his sleep.

Twice to focus his surroundings.

Ratchet's grim face. Ironhide's grimace. Bumblebee's concerned gaze.

And thrice.

A third tiring time to see what he had not see, to believe what he had not believed, and to do, what he had not done at the right time.

\- How are you feeling? – asked Ratchet grumpily, his irritate gaze to analyze and scan the wound the doctor had cared for.

\- I'm fine Ratchet.

\- Really? – he grunted loudly, shaking his wrench while Optimus sat up under the observant gaze of his Autobot - I wonder _why _it's so difficult for me to believe it.

\- *_Let it go, let it go … let the storm range ooooon…_

_\- _Oh shut up Bumblebee! There's something for you too!

Whimpering, the Autobot hid behind Ironhide's wide shoulder while the weapons specialist could not help but wince a little when Ratchet focused on him his crazy look.

\- What?- he barked.

\- I'm angry with you too! I'm angry with all of you actually!

\- And why so?

\- Because I'm in the mood to be angry with all of you! Have you something to say about it?

\- A couple.

\- *_Oops!...I did it again! I played with your heart, got lost in the game, oh baby, baby-_

\- _Bumblebee_!

_-_ That's, enough.

_What the Pit was __that__?_

Bewildered, and still, a little too lost for the harsh outburst, it took a while for all three the Autobot to be able to_ think_ again and face whatever was behind their stiff back.

A threat, maybe.

But what they found was_ only_, if it could be minimize so, a stern Optimus Prime, while the sharp words were lost in the thick and heavy silence no one of them, in the end, dared to break.

Not with _him, _and not with that _look _on his hard faceplates.

\- Warn Captain Lennox that I request to speak with all his superiors, Ironhide.

Awed for the first time in his life by the sharp light in Optimus's optics, Ironhide struggled to found the voice to ask _why,_ but instead of the reason, as he wanted to, he questioned about what Optimus demanded from him.

What his hard gaze asked to.

\- When?

Silently, Optimus Prime stood up from the berth, and when he did it, it was like see Cybertron itself rise once again before their eyes, returning to be how they remembered.

Imposing. Glorious. And strong.

A faded memory that came back to be what it was, in the end.

A memory, nothing more, while the towering mech before their eyes, the stern leader that was now facing them with a look so hard and pitiless to ask themselves for a moment, only a moment,_ who_ really was that mech, was real, and, at the same time, foreign and unreal as an illusion.

Because now, Optimus Prime, just before his optics, had ceased to be many things.

No more a kind and understanding comrade.

Not a stern but fair leader.

Not even, an old friend.

But a ruler. The hardest of the kind.

A hardness that made his voice echoing in their helm like the thundering of a coming storm.

A dark, threatening and implacable thundery that would not spare and make distinction among winner or losers, friend and foe, grinding ground, people and secret, until he would be the only one left to stand.

To win.

\- _Now._

* * *

* The first song is "Let it go" of disney's movie, Frozen ;

The second, "Oops… I did it again" of Britney Spears.

Ta-dan! I'm back! Again! Late! But, hey, I'm back with a long, _long_ chapter!

About that, I hope you did not find the length a problem, in case, please let me know, and if you notice some grammatical errors, I apologize, so let me know about this too if you want.

Anyway, remember what I promised you? Fireworks!

So, did you like the "lively" talk between Optimus and the twins?

I hope so, because it was never my intention to soften too much the twins and make they go gaga over their leader, or better, over someone who was not Lucile. And for them, I enjoy to write about the twins and their little sparkling, they are so cute together!

Another thing, a new character, Ironhide, had made his entrance, and, as in Optimus's case, I hope that he was not too out of character.

I bet you have a couple of question for me, as, for example, because Lucile suffered the blow to her papa, and this one and the other thing will be explained along the way, so wait and see.

Anyway I'll be thrilled to know your opinion about the chapter!

Again, I thank you all for spending a little of your time to read my story, I really appreciate it!

I'll see you all at the next chapter!


	9. 9 - Will you smile back to him?

Names.

What was a name?

A word used to give a form and a meaning to something and someone?

A way to distinguish one thing from another?

Or the simple result of the human's visceral need to label what and who surrounded us?

What was a name?

A curse, or at least, it had always been one for him, an attire from which he had never been able to undress himself.

Hippocrates Barnabas Agrama was his name.

A heavy, stodgy, and pretentious name.

However, despite the appearance, it was not the length or the complexity of his name to give him reason to growl whenever someone called him out.

It was instead the reference to important people that led others to ask the same stupid question, to unnerve him.

Hippocrates? Just like the –

_Yes_. Just like the father of the western medicine. _He knew it_. There was no need to state the obvious, but it had been easier to get a degree in medicine one year in advance and have a specialization in artificial intelligence than curb the idiocy of others, something of which, by the way, he had become accustomed to.

Hippocrates had always hated people and ignorance, that was like saying the same thing with different words.

But above all ignorance was something _inconceivable_ for him, and he was not referring to the one derived by a low education, but the one that was the result of the heavier human deficiency.

_Malice_. Malice was the worst vice, the stain that dirtied the heart and soul of human kind.

The _whole_ human race.

They were born that way, with malice as their trademark, a mole on a wall that, otherwise, would have been white and candid, but there was no way to get rid of such a feature, even as children.

Children. Yes.

The pure, innocent children who, without moral filters, embodied the vice itself.

It was common belief that children were particularly outspoken, rude and even cruel towards their peers.

After all, who had never been teased as a child?

Who had never received a bad joke, a boost, or unkindness in his childhood?

_No one._ That's who.

Such a stupid race they were, a silly and rude kind to which even Hippocrates was ashamed to belong, but if others had simply surrendered to the evidence, he, in the small of his chances, had tried to change things, beginning with the eradication of the problem by its source.

So where to start? What to use? How to correct an inborn error?

Easy. Science was the answer. The first step to achieve his goal and change his kind.

But it was not enough. So what else? Yes. Science. But which?

Medicine. Right. An appropriate choice. But it was still not enough. So which specialization? Which branch?

Obvious. Artificial intelligence and infant care. Where else could he put his hand to dampen a part so troublesome of human kind since birth?

But if Hippocrates had found a logic in all his choices, those ones around him had not been able to exempt themselves to wrinkle their noses, and for obvious reason too.

Hippocrates Barnabas Agrama was in fact known for his intelligence and sharpness, not for his social skills, something that was a basic requirement for those who decided to pursue a career as a doctor.

Kindness, patience and empathy were the aspect that anyone would have expected to find in those who worked closely with small and sensitive creature as children, but he lacked _everything_.

His bearded and grim face did not help to give him a friendly image, not that he cared to not have a reassuring appearance like many had accused him.

He was a man of science, not a model, so smile was not an imperative, as it was not being accommodating and put at ease the other in an environment a little less stiff as his little clinic was.

But again, his was not a beauty center in which to relax, nor a room where take tea.

He did not give lollipops when a child, frightened by his appearance, began to cry, but lectures about how unfair was to use tears to get what he wanted.

No hugs. No sweet words. But life lessons and some good books.

It was therefore obvious that his clinic and life was bare, devoid of any object that could be attributed to the affection of one of his young patients, or at least, that was what people believed with _malice_.

After all, who could have become attached to such a stiff and sharp doctor?

_None_ was the easier answer to find, to _hope_ for, but _someone _was the right reply to give, and they would have understood and known that there was actually someone if only he could tell her name without find himself dead on an anonymous street, with his throat cut and his soul to rot in hell.

But,in all honesty, his soul would have rotten in hell that he wanted to or not.

Because Hippocrates had known, since the beginning of that awful night, that hell will wait for him and the man to whom he had sold his soul and shared a sin that silence and secrets had swallowed up along his humanity time ago.

_Silence._

Among the many, many things people underestimated in the course of their lives, the silence was the most devalued and despised of all.

Some found it embarrassing. Some others, useless. Painful. _Empty_.

But Hippocrates knew that looks can be deceiving, mostly, for simple things.

Just like hands. Yes.

Hands. Hands that were not just hands, not just limb, because if necessary, that same hands could become something with which hurt, beg for mercy, give help, surrender or destroy the others and themselves.

Therefore you see?

Hands could not be just hands, as well as silence could not be _just _silence.

And then, what it was?

Simple and plain lack of words?

The result of cowardice?

The inability to speak their own mind?

The lack of chance to explain and express themselves?

Maybe. Maybe not. After all, as he was saying, the silence could be many, many things, or, well, nothing, but the most of times, especially if it was the human to use it, the silence took generally the form of a lock.

Yes. A lock. The old, rusty and squeaky lock of a door inside which no one could and _should_ peek.

Because, you see, it was not the silence itself to frighten people, but _what_ it contained, what it _hid._

_Words. _

Those unspoken. Those untold. Those closed in the throat, chained by the embarrassment, the cowardice, the fear of being misunderstood or, in all honesty, by the terror to show the rottenness of their own souls.

The _ugliness_ of their rotten heart.

As a stage with its curtains closed, the silence hid in the darkness of its corners the horror of humanity, his weakness, his sins, and above all, his _secrets_, torn pages of a book buried under the weight of the guilt of having destroyed something. _Someone._

_Who. _Nobody knows. How could they?

It was a secret, and secrets were made to be kept, not to be show off, and silence could be heavy and pitch black as the shadow of a huge marquee above which it was only possible to sketch the outlines of what it was hiding, who, it was hiding, without giving to people the chance to understand, to know who or what was missing.

But when the imagination was not enough to satisfy their curiosity, men as the one to whom he had sold his soul, men as the one who had used him as a tool, man like Theodore Galloway, well, men like him _created_ an imaginary hole in which you could peer under the marquee and look at a believable and studied illusion, but an illusion nevertheless.

And they, the illusions, had even names. And face. And age.

Him/she were known as a hero, a patriot, or, as need be, as a threat to the freedom of humanity, _of the world_, a world that knew them by other names, but no one knew it, and, at times, people did not even care about it, about knowing the name, because their curiosity was satisfied, and the curtains were still closed and all was well.

Yes. It was enough. It would have been otherwise? _Why_?

They knew what had to be known, understood what had to be understood.

Someone, whom, nobody knew, had sacrificed himself for a greater target.

A life in exchange for many others, a fair price to pay.

It had always been that way, so why complain now?

After all, the happiness of a single being could be easily shattered, forgotten for the safeguard of the collective asset.

It was logical. It was rational, and in its own way, _inhuman. _And cruel.

But it had to be done, _even_, even if that one-percent, that scapegoat, that martyr had a family, and dreams, and a life to live.

Even if he or she didn't want to die.

But he was stating the obvious now, after all, whatever the reason, whatever the outcome of his sacrifice will be, nobody wanted to die.

So, since no one wanted to give it voluntarily, the life of that one-percent was taken by those like Theodore Galloway, who would justify the loss as something _due_, a title that the one-percent would not have wanted, but they were dead, without a voice with which explain, _shout_, that they had not wanted to die, to became hero, to become a threat, to leave behind their beloved one to whom remained a white tombstone to hold on and a flag with which wipe away the tears and choke their sobs or the shame.

They were dead, and there was no way back to clean up their name, or those of their families.

There was no voice. There was no escape.

All was well, and hidden.

_And yet_, sometimes, without them noticing, some whisper escaped from silence, and someone even returned, somehow.

How, it mattered to a few.

For what, it was what mattered most, _what mattered for them_.

Because the silence of the forgotten was scary, vicious.

As a snake bite it came unexpected, noiseless, but deadly, a splinter of pain that atrophies the muscles and numbs the senses in order to be seen, to be _felt_ and _feared_ by those who had forgotten the shiver in recalling the cry of someone, the pain hidden in the darkness of the corner, and the secret that silence would spit out to deform the carcass hidden under the marquee.

And between the folds of the curtain sometimes something managed to cling before slipping away, _she_, had managed to cling, and survive, apparently, because what had just been pulled by the tiny hands that the man who was sitting to his right had once rejected with disgust, were not the curtains of that threatening marquee, but the fold of the elegant haute couture pants that Director Theodore Galloway smoothed with the thumb in a nervous gesture, so to straighten an imaginary crease on the perfectly ironed suit while the upset rumbling of the White House Chief of Staff made his lips curl down in an annoyed grimace _and the marquee was finally lifted._

_Their sin, was finally showed._

The illusion, the lie Hippocrates had helped to make _plausible_, a forgotten memory exhumed from the ashes of his shame and pain that now, now was judged by the harsh eyes of a jury he knew, he will have to meet when the truth would come to light.

And, as meaningless as it might seem, he had _prayed _for that time to come, for that call to which respond, for the showdown that now saw him and the Security National Advisor Theodore Galloway sit stiffly under the disappointing gaze of top government officials and, surprisingly, under the grim face of a being of which he had only heard about.

Because, if in his desire of self-destruction Hippocrates had taken into account the presence of the highest officers of the White House, he had not considered the attendance of a giant, menacing alien machine that, in the back of the room, seemed a giant monster ready to eat him up, and then, spit his remains on the dirty floor.

\- Have you something to say about the accusation addressed to you?

\- No.

\- Yes.

Galloway contracted his jaw in anger when the man to his left disagreed with what he had instructed him to say when the Chief of the White house had required their presence, but he kept his mouth shut, clenching his hands into fits so tight to whiten the knuckles and vent in that way his frustration and panic.

\- Mr. Agrama?

\- We are guilty.

\- We are not!

\- I did not ask for your silly comment, Mr. Galloway, mine was a rhetorical question. We all _know_ that you and Mr. Agrama are unquestionably guilty, we have the proofs – snapped coldly the oldest of the top government officials, frowning shortly after – But let me say this. You are and always were a disappointment Mr. Galloway. An utter, total disappointment.

Down.

Down and _down_.

At this rate Galloway would have slammed his forehead on the wood of the desk in the silent and dark room, but complain was out of discussion, all he could do was bow his head, gnash his teeth and think about an excuse for something of which he did not consider himself guilty, because there was no guilt, in what he had done, in the _misunderstanding _he had to pretend, something for which he would_ never_ apologize.

He just had to fake and _pretend_ that he did not know what they were talking about, of _what_ that bloody machine was accusing him.

_Something that no one should known expect for him and the traitor to his left_ hissed the panicky voice in his head, and yet, it seemed that not all the evidence he had ordered to delete in due time had been erased by the system and the archives, that something was left of a secret buried under the squeaky building Galloway had seen curl upon itself, burying what had to be forget.

Secretes had to be secrets, after all, and Galloway's should never come to light.

Dark, harsh and merciless secret that would make the skin crawl and the eyes go wide in disgust, secrets he had always been careful to keep hidden, because no one would understand his reason, his_ need_ to do something like that, something ethics could not allow, but in his jobs morality will not get you far, and not until the position as National Security Advisor of course.

There was always dirty work to do, after all.

And he, Theodore Galloway, had stained his manicured and clean in the name of his country, because you had to do what had to be done, and if no one wanted to do it because it was _immoral _or _inhuman_, then he'll, and he would do it over and over again, anything, for the security of his country.

_Anything_.

Even_, that._

Even the despicable and inhuman accusation Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobot, had addressed to the military force with much of his horror.

An accusation that now was making the top government official's chairs shake as if there were time bombs ready to explode under them, an explosion no one could permit, because if that rumor had spread, then chaos would erupt.

He knew it. His superiors _knew_ it.

The newspapers would have swallowed and then spit them even before the journalists could let them explain that it was a misunderstanding, even before they could come with an excuse or make them believe that it was the attempt of someone to throw dirt upon the White House.

No. No one would understand.

Galloway had known it since the beginning of his secret game, since the project Mindbreaker was born from his mind and had taken shape as clay in his hand.

The hand the Advisor hid behind his back without knowing why, as the men in suit could actually _see _the dirt on his hand.

But everything, _everything_ now was giving confirmation of what he had feared long time ago.

Because the way his superior was reacting showed as right he had been about how none of his job would be recognized and prized, but only criticized, and only because it was _immoral_.

_Such a silly excuse._

Everything was immoral, in their world, and yet, explain to his Chief and the world how the _association _of that _thing_ with the alien machine known as Autobot had made her a threat for the world and their security would be useless, because it would be seen as something immoral from the others and not for what he had seen in her, for what she _really _was.

An enemy, a threat of which Galloway believed to be rid of when the project Mindbreaker had been dismissed as a failure and aborted a year ago.

Deny, deny, and deny, that was all he could do at the moment before his Chief.

Deny until the death, even if it was useless.

Because now even to his ears the accusation of torturing a little girl seemed so wrong, _so horrible_, but he had no fault, he did not see any mistakes, because what he had locked up like an animal,_ what_ he had analyzed as a rat lab was not a little girl, but a monster.

_Mindbreak._

It was him to give her that name.

A comic's villain name.

A monster's, name.

And she _was_, a monster, a disturbing little thing for whom he would be accused of trampling on human right, but again, he had no fault. No mistake.

She was not human, not anymore, and those creepy eyes that had looked back at him in horror, that dangerous mind he had tried to use and bend to his will so as to protect with all that power his homeland, his President, none of that was human.

Because humaneness could be lost. It could be removed. It could be walked on. It could be torn.

And there was no need to ask _who, _could do that.

_It was easy._

Because, despite the fake ignorance about the topic_,_ despite _how immoral_ it could be,_ everyone_ knew the terrible answer, it was only that it was too horrible and hard to accept, for the others, but not for him.

And yet, he could at least_ justify_ that cowardice, the fact that mankind had always been a race easy to scare. _Too easy,_ and it was exactly for that reason that there were men like him.

Men willing to do anything for their country, even if the knowledge to be able to tear each other's humaneness was scary.

How could they not be afraid of their own _power_ to c_reate monsters _between them, after all?

They could not. _They knew it_. So they hid, forgot and chained it.

And then? Yes.

_Then_. Because there was still a question to do.

_How?_

How could a human create a monster among his kind?

Simple. It was always too simple.

_Killing the heart __obviously,_ snapped back Galloway to his own reasoning.

And how could a heart be killed?

Once again. Easy.

_Emptying it. _

Depriving it of what it contained.

Love. Hope. _Everything,_ until nothing will remain.

And he remembered how empty and hollow had been her creepy eyes through the containment cell, how ghostly had been her pupil before the floor opened into an abyss in which he had seen sink the carcass of the building along with the tiny form chained to the ground.

_Dead._

He had believed her to be dead and buried under meters and meters of ground with his secret, but now, now it was all uncovered, and _punishable._

He, could be punished, and for what?

For trying to defend them, to defend his own country by the invaders who did not _even_ want to share their military acknowledge.

_By machine._

And machine did not need or have the right to be pitied, not even that little monster who now was trying to mark him as the enemy, _as the threat._

Him. Thedore Galloway. The National Security Advisor.

The sudden and heavy sigh with which the Chief looked away from the sheaf of papers was another low blow to his pride, the humiliation of a career that he had seen sink with a heart full of shame day after day since the failure of the last battle.

\- Neither I nor our Country can do something or forgive you for what you have done.

\- What… what I have done? – stammered Galloway in utter astonishment while Agrama simply closed his eyes and braced himself for what will condemn both to the hatred of the Country and of the threatening figure in the back of the room.

\- What I have done was protect my Country from the enemies and the monster you let loose for the city as if they are like _us_, but they are not, they are just mons-

\- Even that little kid? – shouted the Chief in disbelief and anger, turning the chair when he went abruptly on his feet - Even the child you and Mr. Agrama had segregated, tortured and hurt was a monster? _For the love of God, _Galloway_! S_he was a ten years little kid! Not an animal! _She was human_!

\- That disturbing thing had ceased to be human when she had preferred those machines to her own kind_!_

A strangled breath, a horrified look, and then, a black, heavy veil of silence fell over the tense neck Theodor Galloway drew back while his wheezy breath calmed down and his own reflex in the wide and incredulous eyes of every man in the room became strange.

A reflex that slowly seemed to smile back at him while his featured sharpened, his eyes glinted and the background was filled with whisper that accused him to be _the villan._

The monster.

Because what people forget too easily was that everyone could become the hero,_ everyone_, could become the savior, it was enough to save a life or a smile, to become one, just as everyone could become the monster, the villain of the story, if one chose to take and remove all that.

_So little._

It was enough so little to be able to smile back at the monster in the dark.

To stop pretending to not recognize who, really, was smiling back at you instead.

Who, the monster with angry eyes was, and what, that pitchy dark, was in the end.

A mirror.

Your, mirror.

The sleek, shining surface where you see what you wanted to see, and where you hide, what you did not want to recognize and made the other notice.

Ominous and dark feelings that, in growing stronger, would have choked the eyes and obscured the background, weighing the air, soiling the mirror, and then, swallowing everything in the darkness until nothing will survive to it.

And then, only then, the monster will appear and aim that knowing smile that suggested that he knew who really was trying to fool the other, _and it was never him._

\- We are done.

\- Wait…what it means that we are done…what-

The clatter of chairs and the hurried footstep of the men in suit who were now heading towards the exit were the only answer the Security Advisor had before a soldier yanked the yelling man to the other side of the room where, now, the only one to stand were a relieved and shattered Agrama and the shadow on which the doctor raised an embittered gaze.

_It's over._

A gentle smile softened his features while tears begun to scratch his face and one long hand slipped into the right pocket of his trouser, where his long tapered fingers touched a little paper bird, its wings to tickle the fingers with which he stroked gently the origami's head as he had done so many time in the past years.

\- Could you just wait a moment?

The soldier stared the tired bearded man he was about to arrest with a frown, but he did not seem to want to run away, so he let him be, putting aside the handcuffs while with a whispered _'thank you _Hippocrates Barnabas Agrima dragged himself before the towering giant red and blue alien who simply stared sternly the void, ignoring him and his pathetic form.

\- I don't know if you know her – the doctor begun to murmur so lowly to not even be heard, but Lucile had talked him so many times about how those aliens could hear anything, that he kept on talking, one hand sunk into his pocket and the other planted on his chest – but if you ever see Lucile, please, give her this.

When Optimus Prime lowered his gaze, it was an involuntary reaction to a name his spark repeated constantly in an old sad song, a name that the sad, lost and jaded man before him had murmured gently before a little, tiny paper bird was handed to him with trembling hand and a heavy heart.

\- _Please._

Slowly, with one of his imposing fingers, the leader of the Autobot let the little thing slip in his hand, and when he brought it to his level eyes, the man before him went back to talk with a voice so chocked and strangled to let him know that he was crying.

\- And tell Lucile, that I'm really_, really _sorry.

The click of the handcuff took away the whisper and the man the solider yanked along with him, but Hippocrates kept on to look at the towering alien for an answer he need to have, for a message he_ had_ to give to her, to that little, gentle child that he had deceived, hurt and let cry in the darkness, a child who had found the force to smile weakly at him when he had promised to her that it will hurt less the next time, the naïve, gentle child who had given him that paper bird as a '_thank you_ for the promise he had kept.

And how unprofessional his involvement had been at the time, Hippocrates had become attached to the child.

How could it be otherwise?

She pulled out the best in people, even when there was not.

That little child was able to make you feel better than you were in reality, and, she had even come to make him believe that maybe, maybe there was a chance for them all, but she had simply been the rarity, the exception, and as he knew, there was only one to the rule.

So how each rarity, she was too fragile and exposed to the cruelty of world, to the greed of a kind that destroyed everything they meet, especially what was considered to be different from them, and she was unlike anyone Hippocrates had ever known.

She was the kindness he did not believe to exist in their world, the unwavering hope he did not think could last in the eyes of a human, and the unconditional love she had professed every day, every second for the person to whom she'll come back to as she had promised, and if there was someone who could do something that, at the time, had been impossible, it was her. And she did it.

_She did it._

And that, that was the reason he had decided to come and to bear his destiny, because she had been brave and strong until the end, and he could not do otherwise.

He was in debt with her, after all, because she was what he had sought for so long, and as much as he had sought something so gentle and kind, as much Hippocrates craved for the answer a stiff Optimus Prime finally gave him with a nod of his head before the darkness of the corridor swallowed up the crying face of the man and the '_thanks God _the closing of the door shut out, leaving behind a silent and pensive alien who could not help himself but look at that little piece of a past he had wanted so much to know, and that now made him think about _his_ own past, about what had brought him to that painful moment.

_Become a hero._

That had been the first real wish Optimus Prime had made as a youngling, when his name was Orion Pax, and he was a simple humble gentle mech, a very long, long time ago.

An unrealizable, silly, and childish dream that growing up he had put aside when reality had found for him a role a little less important and a little less glorious, but a role Orion Pax had been pleased to have and to play at the time.

Peaceful, quiet, and even, a little tedious, sometimes, but it had been enough for him.

A little lab. A little part. A little life.

Nothing much, but something for which he had been grateful and even, even a little happy until..._until that day_, when everything had changed and his world had turned upside down without him noticing.

When a divine lineage had been uncovered, a secret had been revealed, and the old name of a forgotten god had been dusted from the centuries of silence and put like a crown upon the helm of a mech that had seen his dream came true.

But everything came with a price, in their world, and when Orion Pax had cast away his plain name, when the humble mech had shaken off the commonness and anonymity with which he had lived until then, a hero was born, and a duty was taken upon a naïve, gentle mech who did not know, at time, that his sacrifice will be greater and more terrible then he thoughts.

It had then begun as a duty to accomplish with pride and honor.

Then, with time, as death had begun to tail his step and even, to approach him as a long lost friend, then, that task had turned out in a play to carry on without asking for a change, because his name _imply_ that duty.

But now, now, that source of pride, that charge, that dream had become a burden the hero was tired to bear when the peace was not worth the price to pay.

Serve the justice.

Keep the balance.

Fight the evil.

Every one of those demanding things called out for a him, for the hero, the keeper of peace to summon when the darkness become too much to push behind, too thick to light up, too harsh to confront.

To look at.

But now, now he was drowning in that darkness.

There, in the muddy, sticky dark where a pair of angry eyes will meet his frightened gaze and address to him a knowing smile, as the monster lurking in the shadow knew something he did not know.

Something, you did not want to see.

Something, Optimus Prime had tried to face despite the pain he was feeling, the betrayal he had received, despite the fear to recognize the face of who with a smile on his clean face had tortured Lucile, someone that maybe, maybe he had even protected and unknowingly helped to accomplish his horrible sin, hurt an innocent who was his_ duty _to protect_._

The first and the main task he had taken on, the only one he _wanted _and did not _have_ to accomplish.

But he failed.

He failed, and the weight of that fault made his head fall every time he tried to raise his forehead into the scratchy, cold hand Optimus Prime drew back from his pained face to strike and crush the wall of the old mansion and growl the pain that was eating him from the inside, a shattered sound that the small shed made echoed like the painful cry of a wounded and beaten beast.

An injured, tired and sad beast that had had only the strength to stand in a dark room when the world outside had become too cruel and wrong to bear, too look at.

And he _can't, _he just_ can't s_ee and feel, and hear all that _pain and lies _anymore.

It was just too much, so he forced himself to stay there to prevent himself from falling apart outside, but his enemy was still there, with him, lingering in the shadow of a crouched hero who had returned to take his face in his hands as he did not want to see anymore, as he had seen too much and find too little for which feel better and grateful.

_Too little._

Because someone had hurt Lucile, someone who he had _protected_, someone who he could have stopped from doing what Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had hissed and cried out after every blow to his shattered body.

Painful, deep stabs in a spark that now had too many holes to close while the hero he wanted to become and that now regretted to be did not know what to do anymore with himself and with a world too wrong and dark to save, a world he didn't even _want _to save but had to.

Always thing he had to do, but what about what he could do now?

Cry for a pain he did not have the right to feel?

Or simply stay here, alone, waiting for someone who will never came, someone who could make him remember why he wanted to become the hero?

Someone who could actually tell him, what Oprimus Prime, the Lord of Light, had to do_?_

_I'm Lucile. Nice to meet you._

_No _breathed the pained voice of his conscience, _no_, not what the Lord of light had to do, but what Optimus Prime _wanted to do._

And find her was what he wanted the most, the first, real wish he expressed in a long time.

_The sparkmate's link._

He could use the sparkmate's link to find her.

Yes. He could. He would.

And then, he'll apologize for everything and protect her and his kind as he had not done.

A thought that made the hand Optimus had clenched in fist, the hand that had supported his head until now unfold the fingers from the hard grip to hug gently the little paper bird, that little piece of a past one day, he will ask Lucile to tell him, as he will tell her his in turn, before his steps became resolute and a way to go, what to do,a new wish and a happiness to follow was finally found.

* * *

Lullabies were hard to sing for those who did not know how to be kind or gentle with their voice.

Such a strange and funny reasoning, but a reasoning that someone had actually made up and on which they had racked their processors over and over until they _had_ to accept that you need to be gentle, kind and quiet like a soft breeze to be able to sing them, but if you were not, and your voice sounded like the flurry during a black storm, then, maybe, you should have to worry about your vocal power and find a way to warm and adjust the chilly screech of your vocal cord.

Easy, if you were a useless fleshling, or even better, a female, but if you were a male and a machine, and, if things could become more tricky and twisted, and they _could,_ a giant angry male mech with a whirling hiss stored in your throat, then _adjust it _could be quite a tricky and annoying thing.

But, anyway, why a lullaby? And why giant angry male mech would have to sing it?

Why all that trouble? Why stoop to that extent?

Because, when you were helpless before the suffering of your own sparkling, and nothing you did could protect her from the monster in her head, then, even male machine were willing to do anything, even the stupidest and humiliating thing, like sing lullabies, to shield and keep her safe.

And if lullabies could sooth the restless sleep of Lucile, if behave like fleshling could help her, then, they will sing how many time would serve to put her at ease, even if mech did not sing lullabies, even if Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, did not sing lullabies.

But they did, and they will, _anything_ in order to not hear the piercing screams in her sleep, when the nightmares would make her shake in their arms so much to crush their spark and the pained voices that called out for her.

Helpless.

They were.

Helpless, hopeless, and desperate to such an extent that everything would have been fine to them, even sing lullabies, if with that girly kill time they could put a stop to the suffering of their sparkling.

A suffering that Lucile hid behind a gentle smile during the day but that, at nightfall, when the self control over her emotions loosen up a bit, and the memory came back to haunt her, changed into a sad line that the twins had tried to smooth _so much_, lighting up the shadow in the corner of her lips that could scar so much her face, so much her heart, to make her smile crack and her eyes go to pieces like shattered glass.

A sparkling with a broken heart, that was who Lucile had been and tried to hide, but a broken heart that now they were trying to put together, to shield by the monster that afflicted Lucile's sleep and troubled their spark, a monster that a name, a face, and even, a race.

_Theodore Galloway._

The cause of Lucile's pain, of the sad and dim shadow hidden behind her eyes, of their misery, it was _all_ his fault, and one day, one day he will pay for it, for everything, but not now, not when the wounds were too fresh to touch and Lucile's need to normality was so strong.

So they had tried to be normal, and kind, like she always had been with them.

And then, even to sing.

After all, it was enough to have a voice, to do it, and even if be out of tune like a bell could be a chance, lullabies could be sung even by them. Maybe.

_Wrong. _

They could not sing.

Shout. Growl. Curse. That was easy. Usual, for them.

But sing, furthermore lullabies, well, that was _actually_ unusual and awfully hard to process and practice.

The reason then, had come to light quite quickly.

Because, in order to be kind, you were supposed to receive kindness in the first place, and unfortunately, in their lifetime, none of them had received it.

Weird and, maybe, even a little sad, but sweet voice and gentle eyes were never turned to them nor they had never sought them.

So make a sweet voice, even fake it was tough as tough it will be do something to which you were not accustomed to, and sing lullabies, be kind with their voice, were something to which nor Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe were accustomed to.

A sad thing indeed, but in their culture, the lack of real and frequent acts of love, of fondness, was normal.

It was not required by their system to be kind or gentle with the others, not even with their own sparkling.

Acknowledge their existence was enough to be acceptable.

Again, something sad, but it was in their nature to not show affection towards themselves.

Respect, submission, those were the most that could be expected as expression of feelings, between them, so no hugs, no kiss, no handshake, no type of contact besides some mental exchange of swear through their common-link.

Their race was not very talkative, or emotional.

They were machine with a soul, yes, but machine anyhow.

Logical. Intelligent. But not very emotive or loving.

That was therefore something that had to be learned, and to ensure that to happen, there had to be in the first place someone willing to teach it, someone strong and kind enough to fight the distrust and the grudge resulting from the fear of the unknown, of something that could hurt.

And, in the end, everyone was afraid to suffer. To be hurt.

Even them. Even machines.

Yes. Machines. A set of bolts, metal and gears to which no one would have thought to teach something, not to something so arid and needless as them.

Machines were made to do, not to feel, after all.

And yet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had learned to do that too.

Feel.

Love. And now, even to sing lullabies with a kind and gentle voice.

Because someone, to teach them how to be kind, _how to love_, there had been, in the end.

Someone that loved them so dearly and so deeply to make them understand that even love_, mostly,_ love, could hurt more than anything else.

And it hurt.

Lucile's love _truly_ hurt.

The way her eyes lit up when she saw them coming.

The way her smile widened on her face when she called them 'papa.

The way she shield them from her own fears, just to keep them safe and free from the pain she would gobble for their own good.

It was just _too much_ to absorb for someone who had nothing, too many feelings to learn, too many thing to acknowledge, like the way she made them feel.

Needful, important, and essential, to her.

She made them feel all that, and more.

Irreplaceable.

Yes. Irreplaceable, something they will never be, because, nothing, in that universe, was irreplaceable, mostly them, mostly machine.

But Lucile, Lucile_ really_ seemed to believe that no one could replace them, that they were worthy to be treasured so much.

_I love you_.

How many times a person had heard those words in his life?

Many, maybe, endless time, but they, they had never heard that word, not even once.

Heartbreaking, yes, but not knowing what it could be feel in hearing those words, they had never been able to know what they had lost for a long time, but they had learned, with her, of how much they had been robbed, of how much they had been deprived, and ignored.

Much, and now, nothing more, because Lucile, as if she had wanted to make up for all that chilly silence, had giggled, whispered, said and hummed those words to them in a constant declaration of love they had received every single time with every '_good morning papa_, every smile, every look, every touch of that little hand that had hugged so kindly their dirty and sinful one, so gently, to make the optics sting and their sparks shrink in agitation and delight.

Love.

Lucile was full of love, so much to make them ask if the world had chosen to use her like its little jar where bottle and keep it.

Love to give, to breathe, to live, to grasp and then, to wrap around themselves like a soft blanket that would kept them warm even in the colder night, until nothing else besides bliss will be left.

_Bliss._

The word was hard to frame, let alone to hold and acknowledge.

There was no such a thing, like, bliss, for machine like them.

Only death, anger, and disquiet.

And yet, what could be the warmth of a little hand to hold and squeeze in turn to ensure themselves to not be alone, or the gentle call of a sweet and familiar voice to which turn their hesitant gaze to meet the kind smile of someone who was actually_ grateful_ for their existence, if not bliss?

_\- Can we slow down now, brother? Can we?_

Blinking through the dazzling headlight of the car that had just honked irritably to his dangerous overtaking, Sunstreaker could not help himself but look down on his laps, where a ruffled head was resting quietly, while the soft lullaby he was humming under his breath decreased to a standstill when he had to answer to the countless whine of his stupid twin.

_\- We are not far enough. _

_\- Not far enough? Not far enough! – s_quealed Sideswipe in utter astonishment, the rumbling of his engine to show his disbelief and horror - _If you did not notice, dear brother of mine, we are driving for a bloody week without a damn break, so if I say that we are far enough, then we are far enough!_

_\- Be quiet, and stop to whine like a little girl, Sideswipe, even Lucile did not complain as much as you do._

_\- That's because she is sweet and too kind to complain!_

_\- Then be sweet like her and shut the hell up._

_\- I'm not._

_\- Sideswipe-_

_\- There is a cafeteria only one kilometer away brother, I'm sure there is chocolate and -_

_\- We will not stop for your damn chocolate! _

_\- How could you do this to your only brother? I'm asking for a cup of hot chocolate, a little tiny cup, nothing more, or am I asking for too much brother?_

_\- Yes._

_\- Ohhh…Why did you have to be so spiteful every time? You'll die alone, you know? All alone, in a little hole, and I and Lucile will live happily ever after without your horrible sense of humor to make us cringe all the time!_

_\- I__ like__ to be spiteful- _huffed Sunstreaker with a growl, before stiffen his voice and lowering his tone in a dangerous hiss - _ and I'll never__, ever__, allow you to look after Lucile without my supervision, I'll not let you embarrass her again like the day you followed her in the bathroom and was called a maniac by the fleshling! _

_\- It's happened just once, __**once**__! You could not blame me forever for it! And what did you know about how dangerous girls bathrooms are? Woman are scary and nasty, brother, they could bully her! You have not seen the tv, do you? And anyway Lucile did not even complain as much as you did– _Sideswipe's annoyed voice spat through the common-link before the dark chuckle of Sunstreaker made him regret to having spoken.

\- _Taking your words for granted, __brother__, Lucile is too sweet and kind to complain._

Sulking, Sideswipe entrenched himself behind an upset silence, hoping to annoy his spiteful brother, but when Sunstreaker begun to sing again and the cafeteria loomed on the horizon, a mischievous glint lit up his face while another car honked at their nth overtaking.

\- S_ooo, are you telling to me that you are willing to deprive Lucile of a real meal and bathroom? What a bad papa you are, so careless._

The sudden stillness on the other side of the link was almost hilarious and even a little moving, but Sideswipe refrained himself from making fun of his touchy older brother, because, after all, even him tried to take care of Lucile's need as best as he could, so just like him, his biting, poisonous but considerate brother would do anything to make her happy, even if, in doing so, he had to listen to his whim.

_\- Well, chips and chocolate bars are not healthy meals for a child, brother– _Sunstreaker agreed gruffly, ignoring his last sentence and eyeing sideways the leftovers of the snack his stupid twin had put in Lucile's backpack for the trip and that now consisted of one pack of candy and some fruit juice – _You_ _should take the energy bars instead. _

_\- Oh now It's my fault? Really? If you did not know, child like sweet thing, sweet! Not those horrible and disgusting vegetables you buy all the time! I have to save my poor and lovely sparkling from becoming a slagging rabbit with all the carrots you made her eat!_

_\- They are good for the visual apparatus._

A heavy silence followed Sunstreaker's plain remark before a low snigger made him flinch and growl at the same time, because he knew, he_ knew_ what was coming, a silly stupid answer that his twin was not slow to give.

_-"They are good for the visual apparatus"– _ Sideswipe mocked him in falsetto, earning right away a dangerous hiss that Sunstreaker had to bite back when he saw Lucile stir in his lap and tighten the grip around the hand she was hugging in her sleep in reaction to the loud growl of the engine.

_\- Really? The visual apparatus? Oh, Sunny, Ratchet will be so proud of you! _

_\- Shut the hell up, would you? _

_\- Why? - _the younger one complained childishly, sniggering like a mad mech at the expense of his touchy brother– _I'm having fun right now._

_\- I'm not. _

\- _That's because your gloomy mood ruin the fun all the time! I and Lucile had always fun without you! _

_\- Because you are stupid and stupid people are fun._

_\- See what I was trying to say? __**That**__! That is exactly the reason you'll die all alone! _

_\- At least I will not have to deal forever with a glitch-head like you, and now be quiet, let Lucile sleep._

_\- You'll miss me!_

_\- I don't. _

_\- Yes, you will! Because without me you'll be lonesome! I'm the only one who could bear your spiteful side!_

_\- I'll have L-_

_\- Lucile will be with me! With you, my poor sparkling will become a rabbit and will die of boredom soon! _

_\- Shut the hel-_

\- Papa?

Slippery like a slab of ice, the silence Sideswipe dropped abruptly between them crashed on Sunstreaker nerves like a thunderbolt, a discharge that struck the annoyed curl of his lips, turning it in a rabid expression.

_\- I'm going to kill you._

Fidgeting, Sideswipe took the spitted threat with a nervous lump in his throat before his eyes were attracted by the little ruffled head that had just peeped from the car window.

\- Good morning papa.

A grunt was all the little girl had from the man who was sitting stiffly beside her, but a sleepy smile graced nevertheless her gentle features, a greeting she then addressed to the identical man sitting in a red Corvet who actually waved her back with a little smile to stretch his mouth before raise a smug gaze upon the not so much talkative older brother.

\- _I think that now we can stop, or not?_

Cursing and spitting outrageous word, Sunstreaker turned the steering wheel with anger, producing an irritate reply from the driver who was smart and lucky enough to withdraw the arms he had raised to show his middle finger just before the dangerous swerve of the Autobot could chop it up, not that Sunstreaker would care anyway.

\- Papa?

\- Don't talk to me now Lucile, I'm angry.

Blinking, the little girl looked back at him with a concerned gaze, so he tried to refrain his annoyance, focusing instead his hard gaze on the dirty path he took to stop grudgingly before the small and old cafeteria his damned twin wanted so much to see.

\- _See? It would be better to listen to me since the beginning._

_\- Just shut the hell up, Sideswipe._

Grumbling, the younger twin parked the car just beside him, while Lucile, still a little confused and disoriented, weighed the face of his papa in silence before reach out for the hem of the shirt and pull it gently, touching the hand Sunstreaker let het her loose from the steering wheel he was clasping so hard.

\- Papa? Are yo-

A soft '_puff, _and every word Lucile was going to whisper was muffled against the sweater on which she found herself sinking while a pair of strong arms laced around her little form and a sharp chin prod the center of her head, the deep breathing of his papa to ticklish her ears.

\- Be still for a little. Would you? – she heard him whisper quietly above her messy hair, taking deep breath as he was trying to calm down, and even if she did not know why her papa was upset, even if she wanted to ask why, all Lucile did was smile softly before sink her face in his chest and hug him back.

_And then he accused Sideswipe to be the childish one between the two._

Chuckling weakly at the thought, Sunstreaker breathed the scent of candy scattered among his seats to soothe his bad temper and try to be a little more tolerant, even if his brother sure was not helping him out, and yet, Sideswipe was not so wrong, after all.

He _had, _a spiteful side that took over him very often, not to mention the others parts that were far worse than it, he, could be far worse than that, but he never did worried about it, about the risk to be hated, but now, the thought that Lucile could find him disappointing bothered him greatly.

_\- As if that could ever happen brother._

Beyond the windshield, Sideswipe's smug smile welcomed the upset gaze of an utterly annoyed Sunstreaker, an anger he vented through the common link so to not startle Lucile, still hugged to him.

\- _I told you many times to not synchronize our thoughts and read my mind, Sideswipe._

\- _When your gloomy part took over of course I, as your astonishing smart and beautiful brother, had to stop you from carry on with such silly reasoning – _the younger one retorted amusingly, shrugging the uneasiness his older brother transferred to him with all that gloominess before resume his attempt to curb Sunstreaker's cynicism.

\- _Yeah, you have a horrible, horrible temper, so do I, but I do not remember a time when Lucile had complained about it, and we had given plenty chance to be hated, but she did not know. She will never._

_\- That's because she is too naïve – _Sunstreaker snapped back, the poison of his own fear to erode his own hope to be loved – _She don't understand what-_

-_ Lucile is much smarter than we think, brother, smarter than me and you, and you know it._

\- _That _– he tried to resonate before being interrupt, again, by a grunt of impatience.

_\- Just look at her brother._

And he did. Both did.

And what they found was what they always had found.

A gentle smile. A soft gaze. And a hug Lucile was always ready to give them nevertheless the reason and the moment, because "_there was no reason to not give a hug, to not so say I love you to the loved ones, no reason to wait the perfect moment when the perfect moment was when one feel to give a hug, to say I love you."_

Smart. Lucile had always been so. And wise like an old mech.

So he was only trying to deceive himself and offend Lucile's cleverness with that hint that maybe, she could hate him, them, one day.

Because she will not.

No matter how bad they could be.

No matter how cruel they were, she would never, ever hate them.

He knows. They both know.

And that was scary. That promise, was scary.

Be loved forever.

Forever, was, after all, a very long, long time, something endless as endless was the time she seemed to want to pass with them.

\- _She come back to us even she did not have to, brother, so "it's alright to be pushy", is not that the scolding Lucile always address to us ? – _Sideswipe reminded them both in a low whisper, softening the gaze Sunstreaker brought again on the little girl who was still hugging him with closed eyes and a gentle smile upon her pink lips.

Contempt.

She seemed so contempt at the moment, so happy to just be in his arm, to melt away all the uneasiness the chance to lose her again and the fear to return alone had instilled in him.

He feared that more than anything else.

A terror even Sideswipe was not too good to curb, given the little shadow in his gaze, and it was that little stain in his brother face to make him understand that maybe, what his annoying brother really wanted was not a cup of chocolate, but the chance to relax along his sparking and stop to be afraid to be separate again.

And he granted it.

He granted that little, selfish wish to himself and his brother, because he was selfish, and alright to be so.

When the grip loosened around her form, and the muscles under her check seemed to relax, Lucile opened her eyes to raise her chin and meet the eyes of her papa in search of the dark light she knew, he tried so hard to hide from her, but what she meet was a startling electric blue eyes that smiled at her when she patted his checks gently.

\- Better?

Gently, Sunstreaker stroked her head with a genuine smile, parting his lips to reassure his considerate sparkling about his improved mood, but when he was _so close_ to have a quiet and nice conversation with Lucile without the inopportune interference of Sideswipe, a sudden blow of icy air snatched him a surprise look and the weight on his lap.

Blinking through the thick knitting of a huge and colorful wool scarf that was packing her like a Christmas gift, Lucile puffed away a thread that tickled the tip of nose when the hem of the scarf went to interbreed with the complex knob on her chest, and it was then that Sideswipe stepped away with a satisfied look, patting gently his sparkling or, at least, the ball of wool that she had become and that now was watching him with a confused gaze through the chink of her strange armor.

\- Aren't you the cutest thing in the world?

\- What, in Primus's name, are _you_, stupid brother of mine, doing?

With the same mockery one would have addressed to someone who had just asked _why_ he was such a superb and unbelievable awesome being, thing that, _obviously_, was an unwritten law like the one that made the sky blue, Sideswipe looked back at his astonished and now not so charming brother with that grim expression of his, raising an awesome, so awesome eyebrow and show him a sneering grimace on his beautiful, oh, _so_ beautiful face.

\- Protect my sugar ball from the horrible and awful climate of awful Earth, of course – he shortly retorted, almost as the silly question and all the disbelief in his brother's eyes offended him - do you take me for a fool?

\- No – Sunstreaker hissed spiteful, getting out of the car with a increasing growl on his face – Not for a fool, but for _the stupidest and senseless organic on the face of all the Solar system!_

\- Papa!

Startled by the peeped and unseen scolding, the two man lowered their sulky face on the little form in the middle, and maybe, if Lucile had not looked like a cotton candy,_ maybe_ Sunstreaker would feel resentful for the reproach, but when the one to scold him was a little, colorful tiny girl with huge eyes and messy hair, then, smile was easier than sulk.

\- What, Lucile?

\- Don't be so mean with papa, he was trying to be kind – she nagged in a stern voice, frowning deeply when the man before her pursued his lips like he was making fun of her, or maybe, simply trying to stifle a laugh Sunstreaker swallowed while trying_, hard,_ to take her scolding seriously and not offend her, but it was_ so ridiculously hard _to be serious with her appearance now, something of course Sideswipe, didn't even try to do.

\- You're not very threatening at the moment, sugar ball – the younger one pointed out quietly, smiling fondly when, swinging on her own feet to turn, Lucile_ tried_ to look stern – but thanks you for your concern, I'm touched.

\- Could you even breathe in that thing? - inquired Sunstreaker smugly, searching in the tangle of wool her hand to take before enter the cafeteria.

With a fiery look she nodded proudly, grabbing their hands without complain for the obvious trouble she had in moving.

\- Of course I can!

\- Maybe I should loosen it up - thought aloud Sideswipe, a sulk on his lips and a gloomy look on his face to which Lucile reacted denying strongly with her head, squeezing the hand he tried to slip away to adjust her handmade shelter against the weather.

\- I'm fine papa, I really am! You were really kind and sweet!

\- Really? – the Autobot inquired pouting, smiling a little when Lucile squeezed again his hand in agreement.

\- You are.

\- Is he?

\- Your gloominess could do nothing this time, Sunny – Sideswipe snapped back to the derisive question of his brother – not when I have as shield a cute little cotton candy on which your malice can only bounce.

\- Use your sparkling as a shield – chuckled darkly the older one - what a mean papa you are, brother.

-_ You_-

The door's ringing cut off whatever insult Sideswipe was going to throw to his spiteful twin brother, but even if the ring had not distracted the pair from arguing, the look of the few customer who had just raised their gaze upon them would have made them forget about everything else apart from scaring the fleshilng to death for having looked at the little girl clinging to their hands.

Sensing the tension, Lucile pulled the hem of their shirt to distract their mind from the poor man who was trying to hide himself under his little cup of coffee, and even if it took quite a while to call them back, when Sideswipe lowered his dark gaze on her, Lucile smiled in relief.

\- Bathroom? – he asked.

\- Bathroom – Lucile confirmed with a nod, noticing a twitch on Sunstreaker's face that led her to try to attract his attention back – Papa, you coming?

\- I'm not Lucile. Go without me.

\- But – she tried to complain, worried that he could do something to the frightened waitress behind the counter he seemed to stare so hard.

\- Leave him alone, we are fine by ourselves. And you Sunny try to not scare off too much people. I want to eat.

\- Go to the Pit.

And then, with that insult, Sunstreaker walked away, leaving behind a worried Lucile and an amused twin.

\- Let's go sugar ball. Don't mind him.

Pulling her by the hand, Sideswipe dragged Lucile to the bathroom against every better judgment, where, thanks to Primus, they were the only one, but it was when his cold hand touched her cheeks that Lucile seemed to come to her sense, finding a pair of pretty blue eyes to smile gently at her.

\- Don't fret so much, sugar ball, he'll be alright.

\- But he didn't like to be alone – she muffled against the scarf his papa was unrolling gently around her neck to let her move more freely.

Smiling fondly, Sideswipe kissed the tip of her nose in a gesture of tenderness, taking deep breaths to cool down the agitation of swirling emotions in his chest.

Because breathe was _so_ hard when she was so kind to them, so considerate of their feelings, even when they were so clumsy with it.

Clumsy and awkward, but she didn't seem to care about it.

She never seemed to care.

\- I'm sorry.

Startled by the faint whisper, Lucile hastened to bring out her head by the tangle of wool to search for the gaze of her papa, and when she met his somber eyes, a concerned expression opened on her face while Sideswipe examined the redness of her skin for the excessive heat of the scarf.

\- I thought it could help – he resonated weakly, as he was talking to himself more than her.

\- It did papa.

\- But you are so red – Sideswipe noticed, a little dejected, hitting himself mentally.

Because he _had _to know how to protect a sparkling, he had read about it, about how child were sensitive to the changes in temperature, about how to prevent them to catch a cold or to have a fever, a horrible and awful state he did not his sparkling to suffer ever again.

And yet, there he was, in spite all he promised himself. To be more careful.

More good.

Good. He had always thought to be good.

But take care of someone was difficult, even if Lucile made it look _so easy_, as if it were natural for her to take care of them both, something absurd, because they were pushy, with a bad temper, touchy and nasty all the time, too much things to bear, for which not feel tired, but she was not, she didn't seem so, and that was _so_ frustrating.

Because _they_ would have to take care of her, not the opposite way.

\- You are good.

A little smile touched her lips when Lucile saw his creator blink a couple of time, as he was trying to figure out what she meant with that, but when Sideswipe caught the link with his reasoning, he could not help himself but stare at her in wonder before raise an eyebrow.

\- Mind reading, sugar ball? Really?

\- Mhmhm – she denied gently, patting his cheek and lowering her voice like she was telling him a secret – I could tell what you were thinking because I know you.

Thunderstruck by the simple and almost comical explanation all Sideswipe could do was watch Lucile enter one of the toilet and close the door before the hilarious and beautiful face of a now beautiful bewildered man.

_\- Do you? _

He thought silently, looking for his reflection on the scratchy mirror above the washbasin to see what expression he had at the moment.

A not so beautiful expression, maybe, but when he saw the man in the mirror smile weakly at him, Sideswipe thought that maybe, even if he was not so pretty with that astonished look, he would never looked so happy.

Because he knew the answer to that question, she gave it to him a long time ago, when a little human sitting in the palm of his had looked straight in his eyes and state strongly that _" you two have the same soul, and that is what I love about Sunstreaker, thus, about you too"._

So she knew him.

_Yes._ She knew him even better than himself.

\- Am I the beautiful thing in the world?

With a crack, the door of the toilet opened a little while Sideswipe followed, through half-closed eyelids, Lucile's head peep from the door she closed gently behind her, reaching in silence the washbasin where she washed her hands under the attentive gaze of the Autobot.

The lapping of water was the only sound that could be heard in the bathroom, and when Lucile seemed satisfied, she turned to the curious man with a smile, handing him the scarf Sideswipe looked for a while before the sweet voice of his sparkling made him and the man reflected in the mirror smile fondly.

\- The most beautiful in the world.

When the chair next to him welcomed with a crack the weight of a foolishly happy man, Sunstreaker cracked open his eyes with a bored look, helping a clumsy ball of wool to sit in the chair in the middle.

\- What took you so long?

\- It was difficult to let go of my beautiful self reflected in the mirror. After all, I'm the most beautiful thing in the world, right Lucile?

\- Yes. The most beautiful – Lucile agreed with emphasis, ripping a surly look from the annoyed man to her right.

\- I'll never, _ever_, let her alone with you. _Never._

_\- _It's jealously speaking, Sunny. Only, jealously.

\- We have the same face Sideswipe.

\- No, mine is much more awesome than yours with all those frown and wrinkles.

-_ I don't have wrinkles_\- he hissed back, noticing Lucile stifle a laugh when the memory of a similar conversation made Sunstreaker go stiff and moody.

\- Don't involve her in your stupid reasoning!

\- Yes, yes, anyway I'm hungry, what should I order? You, sugar ball, what do you want?

\- I already did.

The silence that followed his plain statement unnerved Sunstreaker as never before, and he actually liked silence, it was just that Sideswipe's silence bothered him with all the word it carried along.

\- What? – he barked.

\- Nothing, I was just, how could I say it without hurt your feelings,_ shocked _by your thoughtfulness.

\- You were sweet!

A twitch in Sunstreaker's jaw was the only reaction Lucile's observation had on him before his lips parted in what he hoped to be a threatening hiss.

_\- I'm not sweet._

\- But you are sweet, brother– chimed Sideswipe with a cutting smile, snigger internally for the obvious uneasiness of Sunstreaker – sweet like a strawberry candy, don't you think Lucile?

\- Yes!  
\- I told you not to involve her, Sideswipe! _And I'm not sweet! _

The nervous cough to their right was something about which no one of them bothered, but when a long and tall shadow went to cover Lucile and the little table around which they were sitting, each of them raised the gaze on the jittery, towering man with a dirty chef's hat who held in his hand a huge chocolate cake.

\- Your order.

The clatter of the dish on the table made Sunstreaker cringe, but what was coming to him was much more worse than that, a blow that would ruin his life forever and would have made him the joke of the century.

It all begun with a snigger.

A faint, hated, _damned_, snigger that soon Sideswipe turned into a thundering laugh before one of his hand flew on the back of a dejected and angry Sunstreaker who could only tighten his lips in a fit of aversion and let his stupid, foolish brother pat his shoulder, laughing meanwhile like a mad mech.

\- O my, you _are _sweet then! Isn't he, sugar ball?

What Lucile breathed in answer was a weak whisper.

A faint, brittle and almost whimpered whisper that she murmured too low to be actually heard by someone, but when she found herself hugged with strength between two warm bodies she knew that they had heard her and her _'thank you._

\- Do you like it?

Lucile nodded so vehemently to actually bang her forehead on the table, but Sideswipe's hand stop her head with a little laugh before Sunstreaker found himself attacked by a little cotton candy he hugged back instinctively with a weak smile.

\- We did not have the time to celebrate your birthday, so-

\- Thank you.

\- He did even write your name on the cake, _how sweet_, did you see it Lucile? Maybe he threatened the chef to blow up his car if he did not make a cake for you– Sideswipe joked, sharpening his smile when he noticed the sudden stiffness of the fleshling before him.

_\- You did? – _he asked with a laugh in the voice through the common-link.

\- _He said it was too late for the "birthday" service – _was all Sunstreaker said, glancing towards the counter where Sideswipe made his eyes wander, slipping the gaze from the frightened waitress to the menu affixed behind her back, on the wall on which the Autobot stopped his wandering, finding what his brother was talking about.

"_Birthday service". A cake and a song for your child until the 8 p.m._

_\- It's midnight – _he pointed out with a laugh.

_\- It's the same thing the fleshling had said before I threatened him– _answered back Sunstreaker, and as he had just remembered something particularly annoying judging by the frown appeared on his face, he raised a stinging gaze on the jumpy human.

\- Sing.

\- What? – chocked the poor chef, blanched when the frown on the handsome face of the strange and dangerous costumer deepened.

\- I told you to sing.

\- But…_why_?

\- Because if you do not do it he will blow up your car - laughed Sideswipe with all his might, tearing a horrified look of the human Lucile saved with a _"never mind" _that the man took as the opportunity to hide himself in the kitchen while Sunstreaker search the eyes of his sparkling with a frown.

\- He still had to sing.

\- It's ok papa.

\- Yes Sunny, don't worry, I'll sing for you _all_ the night.

\- I'll kill you.

Smiling warmly, Lucile turned her gaze on the birthday cake and the candle she still had to blow after expressing one wish, but the more she thought about it, the more she noticed that she had not wish to make.

_Funny._

Everyone had at least one wish to make, especially little girl like her, and yet, Lucile did not wish for anything more than what she had now.

A family.

What she always wanted, what, now, she finally had, and cherish very much.

\- Have you chosen a wish sugar ball?

\- I don't have one – she admitted candidly, snatching a horrified look from Sideswipe while she focused her absent gaze on the little swinging flame she had to blow.

\- I don't remember having raised a sparkling so depressed! See Sunny? This is_ your_ entire fault! You attached her your slagging gloominess!

\- You don't have a wish? – wondered Sunstreaker with a frown, hushing his noisy brother with a hard look when his babbling became unbearable, before raise a concerned gaze on his pensive sparkling.

\- None at all?

\- No.

\- _That's sad_, sugar ball!

\- But I don't have one – she thought aloud, still pensive, still, without a wish upon her lips.

\- Why?

When the pained whisper tickled her ear, Lucile awoke from the slumber with a start, following the trawl of a suffering she found in the electric blue eyes of a pair of man who now, before her, looked broken and sad for something they thought they did not do, they did not give to her, something for which maybe, they were even blaming themselves, and it was when she _feel_ the love, when she felt _wanted_ and not just suffered and tolerated as she had felt for all her life, that a wish came in her mind, a little, tiny wish that filled her eyes and heart of the thing she wanted to drape around their frail spark to cushion and bounce whatever could try to hurt them and she in turn.

\- I found one.

\- Really? - sighed in relief Sideswipe who had just met a similar relieved expression on his brother's face before his and Sunstreaker's arm closed around her shoulder in a protective and gentle grip.

\- And what is?

_ For you to be always happy, _she thought strongly, and then, breathe.

The first blow was too weak to extinguish the flame, but when Lucile puffed her cheeks with a little more air and blew with a little more force, then, a curl of smoke rewarded her effort, a successful try she wanted her papa to see, but when she tried to meet their eyes with a smile upon her lips, she found herself engulfed in a pair of arms that, even if with a strong gripping, trembled as twigs left in the wind.

\- Papa?

_It hurt. _

It hurt_ so much._

Clinging to the little form they were crushing in their arms with so much strength to make their muscles complain, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker released a shaking breath when she called to them, but neither of them opened the eyes they were squinting so hard to make them blind, because they were afraid, so afraid of the world now.

So afraid that if they let her go, then, she will disappear.

That all that love, all that kindness that hurt _so much_ will disappear, leaving them alone and empty once again.

And it was a thought so dreadful, a chance so appalling that all they could do was cling to her with all their strength and tell the world that they need her more than it, more than others, more than anyone else.

They need the love and kindness they never had and wanted.

They need her and all the hug she will give, all the smile she will make, and all the love she will tender with kind eyes and gentle hands Lucile will squeeze around their own, so to make them close their optics before the wreck of a revolting past to just feel the gentle wind that she will blow for them.

The soft, gentle and peaceful whisper Lucile puffed against the sweater of her papa before look up one last time and then, hug back the quiet and needy figures it seemed she was the one to hold and keep safe.

* * *

Soooooo here the ninth chapter!

This was a_ tough _one to write, because there was so much to explain and the words to do it didn't seem right sometimes, but I hope that the result is at least acceptable, and I'm sorry if you find some grammatical errors, I'll try to do better the next time!

So, here is the name of the guilty. Galloway.

I hated the man the first time I saw him, so I thought about him as the monster of the story since the beginning.

Anyway, I'll explain better in the next chapters the details of the capture of Lucile, but it was right to give at least the name, after all, the Autobot have too much technology to not steal government secret like this one.

Hyppocrates, the man who opened the chapter, is just a marginal and made-up character that maybe, going forward, will have a little more space, so you don't have to worry about him for now.

Regarding the twins and Lucile, well, that is always the part I really enjoy to write.

As always, thank you for reading the chapter and follow the story, I really appreciate it!

If you want and have the time, let me know what you think about the chapter and the story!

See you!


	10. 10 - Halfway

Everybody hoped for something.

A parent would have hoped for an easier life to his precious child.

A lover would have hoped for a kinder lover to his battered self.

A broken soul would have hoped for a better time to his crushed and lonely heart.

Hope, that need to wait for something to happen, for someone to come, for the fate to smile and finally, _finally _grant your wishes.

Everybody had it in them.

_Hope._

And something to ask for, of course.

Something for which everybody would have waited silently and patiently so that something and someone would answer to their silent prayer.

Who or what, would eventually come to them, well, that depended on what you really craved, what you _needed_.

Money. Love. Friendship.

There were many things to ask for, but what you _really _needed; only you could know that.

Just as it was always you, and only you, the one to know what really was important, what was that _one_ thing without which you'd be dead, with your heart in pieces for the grief of not having it with you.

So, what you wanted, what you longed for, depended basically on who you were.

A hopeless man.

A lonely woman.

A gloomy child.

Every need, every wish changed depending on who you were, on what your needs was.

Therefore, if all that psychiatric analysis on human's behavior was true, then, what could the leader of the Autobot want?

What could make the usual strong and unwavering gaze of Optimus Prime hopeless as that of a lost man?

What, or who was behind the lovelorn glint in the once hard and startling blue eyes of the Alien?

_What,_ actually, was Optimus Prime searching for so desperately and fiercely to make him cringe when nothingness was then the only thing he had found?

Those were the question that a baffled and exhausted Sam Witwicky asked_, of course_ only with his mind, at the grim air of an Optimus Prime who, weeks after weeks, seemed to become more and more taciturn, somber, shadowy.

_Scary._

And not in a good way, unfortunately.

After all, it was one thing when the leader of the Autobot showed himself appalling and dangerous against the enemy, in that case, the scariness was alright, it was good, but another thing was to be nailed by the harsh and grim electric blue eyes that Sam was used to find kind and gentle upon him.

Anyway_, that _was an ugly and terrific side of the scariness of which Optimus Prime was capable, something he never knew, but, nevertheless, a side that had made the poor university student shake like a leaf along with an equally scared Bumblebee when they had returned empty handed after every searching.

And that, with his deep horror, had happened all the time, since the leader of the Autobot had sought his help for a confidential mission of which everybody, from Captain Lennox to the rest of the Autobot had been kept in the dark on purpose.

Odd, and a little worrisome that he had been the only one to be chosen, but since he had been used to be involved in odd and dangerous situations, Sam had not given much notice on the matter, choosing instead to follow the towering Alien unhesitatingly, after all, what could have happened to him with the stronger being in the world on his side?

_Die of fright every time the grim gaze of the Autobot fell on his shaking figure, that was what could happen to him_ Sam Witwicky growled mentally to himself as he pulled the confused and silent man he had found in the isolated café in which he had ventured in search of information about the pair of strange men with a little girl the Autobot was looking for.

The reason why Optimus Prime had been looking for them, well, God only knew, he certainly would not have asked for explanations, he cared too much about his health to test himself with the heart-attack that surely, the tense and sharp tone of the alien would have caused him.

So when the people in the little café had informed him that yes, a strange couple of men with a little girl had been there and that the chef had even talked to them, then, Sam Witwicky had not been picky or shy.

He had searched for the man in the kitchen and, without giving him the time to ask for his name and motive, the student had dragged the first good things in those weeks to the desolate open space, at the side of the Interstate 10, where the icy mech was waiting for him.

\- Are you kidnapping me? – shrieked suddenly the chef when the view of a towering and menacing truck made him pop out from the state of trance on which he had fallen given the speed of events.

\- I'm not – muttered Sam under his breath, pulling the man with a grimace when Al, as he called himself with a shriek, began to yank – Hey! Stay still!

\- Yes, you are! I'm going to be kidnapped! _Help_!

The shrilling scream made Sam cringe, but the truck was too closer, his patience too little and the poor sandwich he had for breakfast too pitiable to let him slow down or loosen his grip around the wrist of the frightened man.

\- I've already told you, dude, there is someone who wants to talk to you about those men you met; no one is going to kidnap you.

\- Are you from the mafia? - squealed in turn Al, yanking and screaming like a little girl.

Grinding his teeth, Sam tried to curb his hysterics, but the dude was not helping with all that '_help, 'the mafia is kidnapping me_ and all that bullshit.

Anyway, why the _hell _would the mafia kidnap a chef of a desolate café of Las Cruces?

What would they have wanted from him? Cake and biscuit with afternoon tea?

_Seriously?_

And yet, the panicked man did not seem to follow the logic of his reasoning, so that, after a squeal and a whimper, the tired boy could not help himself but come to a halt brusquely and grab the shoulder of the chef in a harsh and jittery grip.

\- Listen carefully dude, no one is going to be kidnapped here. All you have to do is tell to my friend the same thing you had told me and you can go back to your fucking kitchen, got it? All I'm asking is some male solidarity man, _please_, I need this.

After a little more yanking and piercing screaming, the man went from shouting for help to mutter his aversion, until, with a soft murmur to fill the silence, he eventually nodded his agreement.

Sam showed him a wry smile in answer, regaining the pulling while the man kept on babbling about why he had to meet crazy people all the time.

Well, at least, Sam can sympathize with that.

\- Here.

With a start, the man raised his frightened gaze on the truck, waiting for someone to come out from that monster, but when no one popped out, he began to eye the psychopath kid suspiciously.

\- Now, what?

Sighing, Sam braced himself for what was coming to him, eyeing the yellow Camaro that honked at him as moral support.

\- Now talk.

\- To whom? – asked the man with a frown.

\- To the truck.

The silence that followed his weird request was heavy and enervating, but when the man finally decided to talk, Sam had what he had expected to receive and what, in all honesty, even he would have said in his place.

\- You are crazy.

_Thanks a lot, dude._

\- Yeah, I'm crazy, I know. Listen, dude, just do as I say.

\- And why? You are crazy, so why should I listen to a crazy kid?

\- Because if you do not – Sam shrieked, by now on the verge of a nervous breakdown- I'll run over you with my Camaro until you will do as I say!

But whatever was the answer Sam thought to receive from the now worn-out man, well, it was not what he had expected.

\- What the hell dude! Why are all the crazy people I meet obsessed with cars?

\- What-

\- Don't talk. I will do as you say, kid, just, be quiet. I had enough of all this anyway – grumbled the chef, spying on his baffled kidnapper with angry eyes before turning, and well, talk with a truck.

\- Last week I met a couple of men with a little girl. It was at midnight. How is it?

\- Umm…it's okay. Go on.

\- Well - Al mumbled without knowing how to continue that odd thing he was doing -Well, as I said, it was a couple of men and a little girl. Listen, kid, I don't' know what else to say.

\- How were they? – Sam helped him, searching, meanwhile, for significant movements from the silent truck.

\- Well – the chef began, shrugging off the discomfort to be in the middle of nowhere with a crazy boy behind his back and a monstrous truck that for a second, just for a second seemed to _growl _for his indecision to continue.

\- Did your track just snarled at me?

\- Bullshit – was the swift answer of Sam – keep talking.

\- But-

\- No questions dude. Keep talking.

\- But-

_\- ._

\- I'd have to stay at home – the man huffed, surrendering eventually to the thought that "the faster the merrier".

\- Let's see… the men were a pair of twins. Tall. Black hair. Disturbing blue eyes, and _man_, out like a horse.

\- Scary.

\- You can say that! – squealed the chef when Sam let slip his remark while the poor man resumed the tale – They were crazy, especially the older one. That one was the worst. You have to believe me, kid, even if they looked alike, there was something in him that made me shiver. A creep, that's what he was, that madman.

\- Madman? – Sam could not help but ask.

With a start, as he had just remembered something that it was better to forget, the chef turned his now pale face to meet the curious eyes of the crazy boy with his horrified ones.

\- He was completely crazy!

The harsh grip in which the man closed his arms made Sam flinch, but the petrified glint in the wide eyes of Al prevented him from complaining about it.

\- He threatened to blow up my car with me inside if I had not made a cake for him!

\- A cake? – breathed Sam, dumbfounded by a request that now seemed crazier than his claim to talk with a truck.

\- _Yes! - _was the heated claim of Al, a fearful look on his already frightened face – He was crazy! I told you! He even wanted me to _sing_!

\- Sing what? – Sam asked again, more and more shocked by what the chef was half screaming now.

\- A birthday song for their daughter!

\- A daughter? Whose?

\- Are you kidding me, kid? Who we are talking about? Whose may she be the daughter if not of those two lunatics?

_A daughter._

The word echoed in the blank space that now was Sam's head for those that seemed interminable minutes, but, in reality, it was just a handful of second in which Optimus Prime, even as a truck, made his skin crawl when the engine hissed savagely, maybe as a sign to force the man to keep going with his story, a hint that, however, diverted Al's attention from whatever he was going to say.

\- What was _that_?

\- What was what? – choked out Sam, pale as a sheet.

\- Your truck had just _hissed_!

\- It was your imagination.

\- What-

\- How was she? The daughter I mean.

\- The daughter? – stuttered Al, going back to look him with his eyes big as tennis ball – what about the daughter?

\- How was she?

\- She was tiny, of this I'm sure – he whispered to himself, frowning when he tried to remember more details – it was hard to have a better look anyhow. Those two crazy men had wrapped the poor thing in an awful huge scar, so little was visible, not that those two would have allowed anyone to get close to her. One of them had even accompanied her into the ladies room!

\- Well…

-Creepy right? But even if they were wicked, their daughter was sweet like a candy. She had even apologized for her parent's behavior before leaving. Really, she was the only good thing of that horrible night.

\- So, any idea where they would head next? – Sam then urged him, hoping to have finally something to follow in addition to the poor information that they had.

\- No, I have no idea, nor I wanted to know at the time. Listen, kid, this is all I know about them, can I go now?

Silently, Sam considered carefully Optimus's reactions, to figure out if what he had found was enough to send away the poor guy, and when the truck backed out with a sharp hiss of the engine, Al flew away as fast as he could from his loose grip while Bumblebee approached him with one of his door opened to let him jump in.

\- So…what now?

Silence. Heavy and stiff.

Sam welcomed the chilly behavior of Optimus Prime with an unsure look, one of his foot inside the car and the other still stuck to the road, waiting for something to do and someone to search, or, at least, some more information about those two men with their daughter that Optimus wanted to find so much.

He had to know something more about them, obviously, something that, however, he did not want to share with him or the world.

Why?

What could those people have done to the leader of the Autobot to be stalked in that way?

Was he in search of revenge, maybe?

_Impossible._

They were talking about Optimus Prime, the kind, wise and strong leader of the Autobot, not about some stalker or hunter of some kind.

He did not seek revenge.

He did not hunt humans, less than ever little girl with two dads as parents.

_But - _croaked his mind_ \- he did not even act behind the back of his comrade or behave like a caged animal, _or, at least, he should not have.

And yet, here they were.

Him and Bumblebee, in search of a handful of humans that seemed to have unleashed an Optimus Prime much darker and somber than the one they all knew, someone that was better not to anger or antagonize, or even cross in his bad days.

And, as the roaring of the engine awakened the cold rage of a gaze that no one, not even Bumblebee was able to hold, even in his alternative form, that particularly day was, as Sam Witwicky could see in firsthand, the worst of them all.

* * *

\- Maybe he's just going through a middle age crisis.

He had to admit it.

_Perhaps_ that one had not been one of his smartest remark, nor the right way to break the tense silence that the stiff crowd of onlookers had kept since the leader of the Autobot had returned from his leaks, even more, somber than ever, however, Petr Andronov was too stressed by the current state of things to continue to turn a blind eye or be quiet like his colleague, Kaminari Ishinara, had rudely asked him a couple of hours ago.

So, since he had not done it, be quiet, the irritated woman to his right gave him what he deserved for breaking the grave contemplation of their moody ally.

\- That was the most stupid thing you've said, Andronov, and that say it all since _everything_ that came out from that big mouth of yours has the ninety-nine percent chance to be something stupid.

\- That _hurts_ lady – whistled Baby Face once the icy voice of the Japanese agent made every man in the room flinch as she had just hit their lower parts. _Hard._

A cool gaze was, however, all that the young scientist gave them before turning on her heels and return to work _as everyone should do_ she shouted at them from the hallway, so to avoid being compared to old and chatty spinners that could not help themselves but meddle in the business of an upset Alien robot who, given his current absent-minded state, would have trampled on them without even noticing.

\- Someone must go to talk with him.

\- Suit yourself, soldier. I just can't wait to see one of you be crushed under Optimus's pedes or fly through the room after one of his careless moves – chewed Ironhide sharply, his imposing form abandoned on the wall not far from where Ratched was analyzing Optimus's brainwaves in search of the reason behind his moodiness.

But the more the doctor looked at him, the more the lack of answer made the grave frown on his flaceplates deeper and more confused.

\- I don't understand. There is nothing wrong in his vital signs.

\- Maybe it's something psychological? – ventured Captain Lennox after a couple of seconds spent to stare at his alien friend with a worried look.

\- Like what? – Epps asked frowning – Some kind of trauma?

\- Was he bullied as a kid? - one of the soldiers wondered aloud.

\- I'm still of the idea that he is going through a middle age crisis – Petr muttered under his breath, but, just as for all the things he said, there was someone that made him swallow his stupid statement with a swear-word while a troubled Ratchet kept on staring hard to his chief, and the annoyed Russian man searched for some other plausible explanation for Optimus Prime's shift of personality.

\- That is not possible. It's true that our life span is longer than yours, but if we had to give him an age through your criterion than Optimus will be around twenty-six/twenty-seven years.

A couple of whistles showed how much that news had surprised the soldiers, especially the Captain who raised a bewildered gaze on the doctor.

\- Really? Is he that young?

\- Yes, Captain Lennox.

\- Then, how old are you? – came the question of another soldier, closely followed by another pair of queries – and Ironhide? Bumbleebe?

\- I will be in my forty. Bumblebee, on the other hand, is still a youngling, so he can be considered a teenager, while Ironhide, well, he is the oldest one, he will be in his fifty.

\- A grandpa then – Petr joked with a half smile, but, again, he was forced to swallow his stupid saying and voice when the angry eyes of Ironhide made an imaginary hole in his head before the upset transformers, satisfied of the whimpered apologies of the fleshling, brought back his attention on the tall and taciturn Optimus Prime that was still gazing intensely at the world map.

Looking for what, he did not know.

\- All I know is that he is keeping something from us – he thought aloud, his faceplates grim and scratched by the frustration that he vented into a growl of annoyance when his old friend and chief let himself be engulfed by the darkness of the hallway without a sound, leaving behind the noisy question and the angry call to which Optimus did not bother himself to reply.

After all, he had not the time to worry about the uneasiness of others when he was too busy to curb his own, badly to more he admitted with a heavy sigh as he advanced rapidly towards the corridors to reach the only place in which he can afford to undress himself from the stoic and somber look and let the loneliness and frustration stain his optics and make his voice plaintive like that of a child.

He_ needed_ it.

A moment, just one moment, some outlet for the tangle of disappointment, worry, and sadness that threatened to choke him every day.

How could a human even bear all that pressure, all those conflicting feelings, went beyond his comprehension.

He was becoming too unstable. His feeling too messy. His mood too fickle. His voice too unfaltering.

Optimus Prime felt uncomfortable in his own skin, and he did not like it.

Be so moody was bothersome.

He was happy one moment, then that after sad, then angry, then frustrated and then, happy again, a labyrinth of emotion that he could not control or curb since he had decided to trust the sparkmate's link.

What really it was had been a mystery, at the beginning.

After all, it was an event so rare between his kin, that no one had some knowledge about what it really was, about how to use it.

So Optimus had only been able to guess.

Was it something you could touch? Or maybe it was something more spiritual?

How did it work?

Could she hear him? Could he hear her?

How could he do that?

Could he even do that?

Yes. He could. Or, at least, that was one of the first things he had discovered.

Yes. He could hear Lucile if he had thought hard about her, and that, at first, had not been very difficult.

Embarrassing how easy it had been for him to make her a regular thought, to have a memory of her so clear, strong and limpid in his mind, but when the initial awkwardness had given away to the daze to be actually able to _feel _her, then, it had been easier to accept his clumsiness and uneasiness.

So, he had kept on guessing.

How could he track her down? What trace has he? What did he remember most about her?

The softness of her gentle voice.

The moment he had thought about that, a faint, gentle whisper had echoed in his startled mind, something too weak and far to believe to be true, to be considered as a proof of the link, as a hint, but when Optimus had begun to pace back and forth to ease his irritability, something strange had happened.

Stronger.

The voice had become stronger two steps back from where he had stopped, so he had believed, or maybe he was simply glitching, but when he had tried his madness, and the voice had become _for real _stronger as he had supposed, then, he had discovered another thing.

The more he walked with the memory of her voice as his landmark, the more Lucile's voice become stronger, a guess, just as the other ones that had brought him to all that, but a guess that had become a certainty when, in following the voice, he had returned to the glade where Lucile had found him.

The beginning of his new path. A path he had chosen to take, and, that now, he did not intend to abandon.

So, with a proof and a spoor, he had begun to search for her, alone, hopeful to be able to find her.

But he did not.

He never did.

So he had asked for help to Sam, the only one who would not have questioned him, his mood swings, the faint smiles that peeked on his lips or the disappointment that had begun to darken his optics and harden his voice.

Because he had been always close, but never enough, always about to_ feel_, but never to touch her.

It was from that disheartening inability that all his distress, his moodiness, and his stiffness was born, from being _almost _but never _there _where he knew, she had been before him, _always a step away from him_.

And every time his mind recalled another trail to use, every time new features gave a form and a sound at the blurred shape he had tried so hard to grasp, those same fascinating details made his failure more unbearable.

The kind glint of her smile.

The gentle weight of her steps on the ground.

The soft tinkle of a laugh of which he could only listen to the echo that, however, was destined to fade along with her slim shape when he was_ so _close to make that head turn to him.

The sparkmate's link was becoming a blessing and a curse.

A blessing, when the air around him fizzled with the trail of a voice that he could even listen if he concentrated enough, and a curse when the _feel _to be close to her, but not enough to be able to take her hand and prevent Lucile to vanish, made him growl with frustration.

Halfway.

Optimus Prime could not help himself but feel himself halfway from everything.

From the need to shield her from the harm that could befall on her.

From the obligation toward the twins who had suffered more than he could imagine.

And from his simple wish to return the smile that Lucile always had for him.

Simply, to feel at peace with himself.

That was what Optimus Prime wanted the most, the chance to have a little peace for himself, the _freedom _to learn what love and be loved could mean for him without war, deaths, sorrow, and obligation to tarnish the only clear thing that belonged to him, that had been thought for him.

And he wanted it.

He wanted his chance.

He wanted Lucile.

He wanted her because she was his chance to discover what happiness, love, sadness, selfishness were.

Because she was, for him, the chance to be _free _from everything that kept him chained to the ground.

His name.

His role.

His life made of duty and no claim.

And he wanted them.

Yes. He wanted them, he wanted the chance to be unreasonable, selfish, moody, sad and then happy, to be emotional as he was when he thought of her, he wanted all that because it had been pleasant, extremely pleasant, even if at first he had not thought so.

But before, he did not know what was like be something like that, selfish when he wanted something, angry when he did not like something, unreasonable when he did not want to do something.

He did not know, simply, how it felt to be free to_ try_ to be what he wanted when he wanted.

Just as he felt now, disappointed, angry, and even annoyed by the heavy steps he heard echoing behind him.

_Could they leave him alone? - _snarled his conscience.

Or could he not have a _slagging_ minute for himself?

What did they know about what he was feeling?

What did they know about the mess in his head, or the pain in his spark, or the longing for a chance that he would have held and brought near his spark where he would make sure to keep it safe along with his life, if only he had been able to reach for her?

What did they know?

Nothing.

If only…

_If only he could find her._

A dejected sigh slipped through his lips when the weight of his failure became too much for his tired mind to bear.

_If only he could talk to her._

If only Lucile could _wait_ for him to catch up, then, he could explain himself, his need to apologize to her, to keep her safe along with the twins.

If only he had the _chance _to be _chosen_ and _heard _by her along with his words, his promises.

Yes. _If only._

But the time was always too wrong, their moves too out of phase, and the place too amiss.

There was no possibility for him to cross again her path, not even by chance, not when Lucile could make her and the twins untraceable.

Not when she still believed him and the world as a danger for her and his family.

Unfair.

_It was all so unfair._

The pain she had to suffer for human's madness.

The hate the twins had to face for the fear for the different.

His grief for something that he had only been able to brush with his cold fingers before losing his chance to have something for himself, to know _how it would be like._

So what now?

Was it all over? Just like that?

That distressing longing was all that remain to him of something that could have been his?

_Only that?_

Longing, and what more?

Bitterness for what he had tasted but not hold? Regret for having already lost it?

What remained to him now?

Imagine how he could feel if only he had let himself go?

The thought was so painful and maddening to make him want to scream his rage, but his lips remained sealed and his eyes shut, painfully, because he had not the right to let the world know about his grief, about his emptiness and his need to be _heard, _and, simply because the steps of those who had followed him were by now too close to him.

And he could not afford to be heard.

Pretend that he had imagined it all.

_That_ was what the leader of the Autobot, what a Prime should have done, what the others wanted him to do if they had known.

Others came always before him, after all.

His pain was, therefore, meaningless, his grief unbecoming, all that distress, useless.

Indecorous.

If someone had found him in that state, doubled over in pain for something so foolish as the longing for love, for kindness, then shame would be everything that would await for him and for such unsuitable behavior.

Prime did not suffer for love.

Prime did not think about anything else than the well-being of the universe, of the balance.

Prime simply did not _feel._

They only had to _be of use_.

Nothing more.

And yet, that part of him that had not been a Prime, that somber, sharp and hard side that his comrades and alley had struggled to recognize, that part, as irrational, selfish and stubborn as it might be, that part would still suffer, and hope, and wait for something to happen, for his chance to came back once again.

Because if Prime had not waited for something like that, Orion Pax would.

Yes. He would wait for that something to come at him, even if it was more suffering, even, if the only thing that had continued to come to him would be still painful as the flash of hurt that made Optimus squeeze his optics shut in discomfort before a strong grip made him turn and face the stiff expression of a rabid Ironhide.

\- You owe me a hell of explanation Prime! What the slag is happening to you? What the-

\- Hush.

Frozen by the irritated hiss, Ironhide blinked a couple of time to adjust his view and process the brawling expression of a furious Optimus Prime and the growing annoyance in his optics, but when he tried again to be heard by him, an angry growl and a couple of snarls from his once kind and nice chief made him forget whatever curse he was throwing at him.

\- Silence, Ironhide. You have no right to demand an explanation from me. Leave me alone.

Baffled by the unexpected exchange of roles, Ironhide found himself at loss of words for a couple of seconds, but when Optimus Prime pulled back sharply his hand from around his wrist, something snapped inside the weapons specialist's mind.

\- What the slagging meant to leave me alone? _Leave me alone_ Prime? Seriously? Since when you were this-

The shadow that the leader of the Autobot cast upon him when he towered over the mech in all his imposing form was too sudden and too overwhelming for Ironhide to be able to react or even think straight, so that keep his stunned silence was the only thing the bewildered Autobot could do.

\- I did not have time for your whimpering, Ironhide – the leader of the Autobot snarled, a low hiss to swirl in his throat and his angry advance to make the weapons specialist recoil one step at time – I meant what I said before. Leave me alone. I have something more important to do, and whatever it is, it is not of your business. _It's mine_. So just keep quiet and stay in your place, Autobot. I need to find L-

_What _spelled Ironhide's metal lips when the voice was too hard to find and the shock was still too strong to overcome, but when the time for Optimus to give him a slagging sense to all bullshit came, what escape from the poisonous mouth of his leader was a trailed whisper and, after a second, his own unrepeatable curse.

\- Did you hear that?

The tapping on the keyboard stopped abruptly, as to give time to the busy woman to reply at the whispered question, but instead of the sound of her voice, it was the sharp tapping of her fingers to fill the silence once again.

\- Pssss. Hey, Ishinara. Pssssssssssssssss. I said, did you hear that thing?

For a moment, just for a moment, verily too short to be really considered a unit of time, Kaminari Ishinara contemplated the idea to feign ignorance to the insistent question of her colleague, but experience reminded her that if Petr Andronov did not receive an answer to his pointless question, his pout would haunt whoever had ignored him, and the young woman was too tired to take care even of that at the moment.

So, reluctantly, the serious look that she was addressing to the screen of her laptop slipped to her right, there, where the Russian scientist was half turned toward the exit, his eyes set on that _something_ that he had heard.

_Or_ _believed to have heard_ hissed the angry voice of her conscience, but there was not the time for that, she could only hope that all that bullshit ended quickly.

\- So?

\- Did you not hear that?

\- That, Andronov?_ What_ exactly is that? – she urged angrily – you know? I'm not specialized yet in mind reading, so-

\- I can't explain – the male scientist though aloud, his eyes set on the exit of the room - but it was like a phssspongpu.

_Oh for goodness sake!_

_-_ _What the hell are you talking about Andronov_? Phsa… _what_? Is it even a language? Stop with your mumbo jumbo once for all and – the sudden commotion outside their little lab cut off any curse Ishinara was going to throw at the bewildered Russian man, and even before one of them could ask anything to the hurried soldier appeared on the hallway, a resounding crash made them jump from their chairs while a couple of blasphemies of Ironhide boomed in the base and Kiminari Ishinara, for the first time in her life, acknowledged Petr's words as something plausible and, that god forgive her, as something _reasonable._

* * *

People's mind was a dangerous place.

Uncharted. Deceitful. And illusive.

A hideout people sought hoping to avoid the harm and, eventually, find an ally to the pain and a shelter against the storm, but, what we believed to be a safe room would soon become a maze with no way out if you had the misfortune to get lost inside, and get lost in there, lose your way, was easy.

Frighteningly easy.

It was enough just a moment of distraction, only one short second of hesitation, to sink and slide down, down, and _down, _until the scream of fear that had choked your voice in the downhill would become the echo of a chilling terror of which no one expect you will ever know, because you will be alone, in there, or, at least, it would be you and that side of yourself of which not even you were aware because it had always been out of reach, hidden in the darkness, there, where no one expect you could reach it.

Subconscious was the name mankind had to give to that hidden part.

The secret door was, instead, the denomination Lucile liked the most.

After all, it was her right to name the things in her head, to give them a particular form, a particular place and, as in that case, a particular denomination.

Her mind had always been, since her birth, the only place where she could be, do, and see what she wanted, and if she wanted to call it in that way, then she would call it that way and do as she pleased.

It was her kingdom, after all, her citadel, the fortress she had begun to explore and build up brick by brick.

She liked to feel safe. Then her mind would have been made of circular walls.

She liked books. Then those walls would have become a wood bookcase full of books.

She liked to paint. Then, the floor would have become her canvas and her coloring book.

She wanted to be alone. Then, a tall, huge and unbreakable door of steel would be the only entry of her fortress, while, that little hole, the secret door she feared so much, would have remained hidden behind the row of books she would have never moved or opened.

Her fantasy.

The figment of a lonely, powerless little girl who could only dream of a place where to shut herself and be safe, loved and eventually, even welcomed.

It had been so before when she had a capricious mechanical heart that made her unable to do anything besides dreaming.

A fantasy.

A dream.

The only way out from a reality too cruel and unfair for her to accept.

But, as she raised her peaceful gaze from the page of the heavy, old books she was reading for a while, what Lucile faced with a gentle smile was a solid shelf, brimful with books that she would find behind her back if she had turned behind, to her right, if she had turned in that way, and to her left, if she had chosen the opposite side.

And that,_ that _was not a fantasy, or a dream, even if she, at that specific time, was sleeping in the arms of her papa.

No. It was not a fantasy.

Because, if Lucile had stood up, if she had approached the wall, and then, stretched out her hand, then, what her fingers would have touched would be the solid, sleek and cool wood of the shelf that surrounded her little figure seated in the middle of it.

Just as solid, real and true would be every book, edge, and surface she would have touched to test their tangibility.

Because it had begun as the result of an old dream, of a silly wish, but an illusion that, with time, thanks to the change that her body and life had undergone two years ago, when her mechanical heart had come to a halt and something else, instead of blood, had pumped in her coronary, lungs and brain, now had become real.

_Alive._

And it was all thanks to that burning, choking and painful thing that her papa had called once Energon, the blood, and life of their mechanical body and at the time of her awakening, at the sudden beat of her new heart, even of her fleshy one.

But she would not lie.

It had been painful,_ extremely_ painful for her to get used to her new body and conditions, but as every action leads to a result, even in her case, the result had brought pain, yes, but even changes.

Yes. Changes.

Too many to count. Too deep to look at. But the change that had involved everything.

Her eyes.

Her heart.

Her body.

And, eventually, even her mind.

The quiet, safe and peaceful mind that, suddenly, had been filled with too many sounds, too many voices, too everything to avoid the risk to go mad, but, just as it was right, everything had a balance in their world, and the noise in her busy mind could become a background hiss if she was close to her parents, like if they were the button to turn off the voice and the pain in her mind.

And that discovery had been helpful, so much helpful, since the first months of her new life had been only painful.

A fever.

It had been like have the flu that needed the strongest antibiotics to let her recover from it, and her antibiotics, her medicine had been time, a lot of time, and, above all, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, or, as she had learned to call them, her papa.

Two fathers.

Humans choices and fear had taken away from her a mother and a father, and with time, even a grandmother, but if Earth had not taken her into account as somebody to love and not to leave behind, alone, another planet and another races had considered her worth the price and the time to be loved and to be chosen.

And when that had happened, when someone had peeked behind the yielding smile and smiling eyes, when someone had actually _tried_ to see her without mortal disease, false hopes and acts of mercy to blur her image, then, Lucile, the real broken Lucile had appeared as she had always been.

A lonely, forsaken and heartbroken little child who had only waited for someone to pick her up.

So, if all the pain she had suffered, all the betrayal, the aversion, the hate that she had received since her eyes had changed colors had brought her up to that, to those two gentle and lovely being who had chosen her, then, she did not care about all that.

Pain. She would have endured it.

Hate. She would have ignored it.

Ignorance. She would have forgiven it.

Everything, she would do everything if that meant that her family, that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, her world, would be safe and happy.

Nothing had been more important than that since she had opened her eyes.

So, when she had to choose between their freedom and her own, she had chosen theirs.

When danger had threatened them, she had become the shield and then, the wall to interpose between harm and their body.

When her mind had been chosen as a way to harm, hurt and crush her parents, she had locked herself up and cast out all that voices, all that noisy and the hurtful words that had tried to turn her in a vengeful monster.

And, when that had not been enough when sleep had no longer been possible and silence had become unthinkable, she had filled the shelves of those walls she had erected with books that she would read to be always awake while her body will rest.

So, yes, everything changed.

She had changed.

Her life had changed.

But if there was something that had not undergone any change, then, it would be what had always helped her to survive in the world where her presence had always had a question mark to the end of every sentence.

Her imagination.

Useful, when to reach the door of your own room without being short of breath was unthinkable and imagine leaving home to go play with other children were the only things you could do, but when to that same imagination that had been able to bring fairy tale in that little closed rooms had been given the power to _give a form _to those fantasies, then, what happened took a particular name.

Magic.

She had become a magician.

The sparkly things her papa had implanted in her chest, the blood that had made her eyes so pretty, the burning feeling in her head, all that had made her a magician.

They had given her the chance to forge her own world, to be _special_ and not strange, odd and eccentric.

So it mattered little all the side effects that had come along that power, the power to _do what she wanted, _the power to _create, _all those tiresome things, like the voices, these things were nothing compared to what she had now, what she could do for herself and her parents.

_Be useful._

And Lucile had always wanted to be useful, to be somebody to lean on and not only to guard and be wary of.

Protect and not be protected.

Help, and not only be helped.

Live, and not only survive.

_She wanted to live._

And life, that was the gift that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had given to her, a chance that the little, sparkly thing that made her heart beat had given to her along with as sense of belonging that she had never felt before, not even, with her Grandma Lucrecia.

Because she was part of something, now, and not simply an addition, an _extra._

She had become part of something nice and kind.

Part of a family.

Part of the life.

And, part of the world.

Even if it, that unkind world, was still the world that kept staring warily at her strange form, at her strange eyes, at her strange mind and now, even at her strange family, but that one was a look that Lucile could dodge and even make blind if hatred had veiled that wary gaze, if the eyes of the world had become black-hearted and malicious as the one Lucile brought back to her mind with a shudder.

She could do all that to shield them, and if it were not enough, if hide would not be enough, then, she would fight.

Yes. She would, just like the knight of her book.

_Yes_, she thought, lowering her firm gaze on the shining blade that the knight aimed to the heart of the black, dangerous dragon, _she would fight just like him, with her mind as a sword and her imagination as arrows to shot at the treat._

Lucile was already drawing with her fingers a deep hitch in which let the dragon fall even before he could reach the knight on the other page when suddenly, the combative look of the valiant horseman flickered under a confused look she was forced to raise with a shiver when to tremble was no longer only the knight, but the room.

The shelf.

The books.

And even, the huge, solid, and unbreakable door of steal that now seemed too unsteady before her frightened look.

Because she knew, what could make her room tremble so much.

What could make _her, _tremble so much.

An intruder.

There was an intruder inside her head.

How, he or she had managed to get in, startled Lucile while her shaky hand slipped under her thick and wavy hear to cover the access the cruel man who had imprisoned her had created to enter and control her mind, so to bend her will and take advantage of her power.

_Someone is trying to make me do something bad again _whimpered her conscience in a panic while the shivering increased under the vibrations of a voice that became clearer, a little crippled, but too close to her fortress.

_Too close to her heart._

He. He was a he.

The timbre was too low and sharp to be the voice a female.

But a he who nevertheless was moving towards her, towards that shaky door on which she imagined metal plates, wooden beams, and pillars to obstruct the passage and load the entry, but it never seemed enough to keep her safe.

Even when the savage dragon in her book appeared before her and the entry, she did not consider that enough, no.

Not enough. Never enough.

Because she was too scared, and if her emotion wavered, so her creation would do.

They would return to be simple illusions, and, therefore, useless, unable to protect her, and then, she will be at the mercy of a new threat again.

_I'm the one who control my mind._

The litany began to slip between her trembling lips while her hands pressed on her ears hard, the dragon showed his teeth, and the voice behind the door became closer.

_I'm the one who control my mind._

The fall of a couple of books startled her, but Lucile kept on whispering her charm while her eyes became glossy and no fire came out from the jaws of the dragon that, now, had begun to turn in an origami of paper- mache when she lost the control of her emotion.

_I'm the one who control my mind_.

A rain of shredder paper fell like snow upon her lowered head when the illusion burst under the strength of her unstable thoughts and her arms encircled the legs she brought to her chest, hiding her form under the waterfall of hair that like a heavy cloak tried to protect her from everything was coming at her.

_I'm the one who control my mind._

The condensation of her hot breath tickled her eyelids wet with tears and the forehead she pressed with a sob against her knees when a thud against the door made her flinch.

_I'm the one who control my mind._

A blow at the door. The trembling of the cornerstones. A choked breath stuck in her throat.

_I'm the one who control my mind._

Another blow. Another shake. Her whimpering prayer.

_I'm the one who control my mind. I'm the-_

_\- _Leave me alone!

The piercing scream left her throat even before Lucile could press her hands over her mouth and hush her cry, but when it bounced in the circular room like a stone thrown on the smooth surface of a peaceful pond, all Lucile could do was squint her damp eyelids and wait, under the heavy blanket of hair, to be attacked by the intruder.

And she waited, waited, and waited until, between the chilling silence and her faint breath the male voice whispered back with a gentle, kind and familiar voice a nickname that made Lucile raise her head and gaze at the door with hesitant eyes, before her trembling and dry lips murmured a shaky but hopeful call.

\- Orion?

* * *

Continue…

Hello!

First of all, I have to say that the characters of Baby Face, Petr Andronov and Kaminari Ishinara did not belong to me.

I'm _so_ sorry for the wait, chapter always requires more time than I thought.

I hope, however, that now you could get an idea about Lucile's power, but of course, they will be deepened later.

Thanks so much for reading and for those who continue to follow the story despite all the time it takes to update the chapter!

Thanks again and see you the next chapter!


	11. 11 - The abduction of Optimus Prime

Close a door was easier than opening one.

Denial was, after all, much more inbred in people's heart than acceptance, an innate repulsive force that led people's hands to chase away anything that could be considered harmful for their happiness, and humanity, a race devoted to its own self-preservation, was willing to consider as a threat even the very fruit of their loins, _even its own kind_, a wickedness that had turned those same hands into the recoil of a gun ready to shot indiscriminately whatever dared to approach that closed door.

_Better safe than sorry _was what people said to excuse that emotional shutting, an excuse that hid much more than simple self-respect, because there was a significant difference between being wary or simply halfhearted, a considerable dissimilarity that led people to deny, deny and _deny_ even before you could actually _see_ what was back there.

Who or what, it was not possible to know, and maybe, in all honesty, it did not even matter who had just knocked at that door, after all, wasn't that the reason it was closed since from the beginning?

To shut out the world that you _chose _to ignore?

_Of course_.

Because you didn't care about the outside, or about the people who were, outside, someone who maybe was asking for your help, or that simply wanted you to hear his reason, his problems, and then, unburden him of a sin that you could help him endure better, but you'd never know it because you kept the door closed along with your heart.

You denied the access, and, in doing so, you denied their very existence.

Their needs.

Their voice.

And even, what he asked you to give, something that, however, you were not willing to grant, because what he had asked from you had less value than what you would receive in return.

_A Libra._

Human relationships were based on that, on the ratio between loss and gain, between what they could earn in return and what they could lose otherwise.

Money. Social standing. Love. Affection.

Everything could be weighed, valued, priced and then sold in exchange of something else as long as it had been possible to gain some profit from it, and, according to that same reasoning, there would not have been any of that for her.

Not even a small chance to get something,_ anything_ equally valuable as what Lucile would have to give to that someone beyond her door.

Trust.

_Her,_ trust, something she had stopped giving after the countless betrayal of those who were supposed to protect her unconditionally, to forgive her, unconditionally, and love her, unconditionally.

But for her, unconditional had been only the distrust, the denial, and lastly, the refusal.

The rejection.

The recoil of a gun that had stopped shooting only when, beyond the door on which she, by then mortally wounded, had slumped her trembling form, between the panting and the sobs, it had been possible to discern the drenching dripping of blood.

It was the sound of those who had just been hit and scarred from a wound that would never heal completely.

She would never heal completely, not from a scar upon which Lucile put her hand so to cover it, to_ hide_ the injury and prevent someone else to loosen the frail strings that kept her whole.

Scarred, yes, but still able to live her life and do her best to be happy, to smile.

_Smile._

Lucile had always done her best to do it, to smile.

If you smile to the life, then life will smile at you, that had been the sentence Lucile had repeated incessantly to convince herself and the world that everything would be alright, that she would be alright.

But she was not.

Not alright. Not happy. Not safe.

_Only_ scared.

_So_ scared _and_ breakable, before that new chance to be betrayed again, to let her body react only to its instinct, lowering the eyelids upon the eyes Lucile tightened while her body folded on itself and her arms encircled her thin body as a protection, as new strings to wrap around herself and keep everything together.

Her trembling heart.

Her shattered gaze.

And the hesitant hands she pressed against her ears to silence the faltering voice beyond that door.

She was closing her door, _she was closing her heart_.

She knew it, and she hated herself for that, for her cowardice.

But Lucile was too scared, too confused to let her listen to that voice, _t__o that request of help._

She was rejecting the evidence, rejecting the voice beyond that door, rejecting the awareness that maybe he really needed her, that Orion, her first friend, needed her help.

_Help._

Lucile wanted to give it to him, she had always wanted to give it to him, but she was too scared to move, too unsure about him and the reason of his presence, so she hesitated on the threshold of that door with her hands on her ears and her heart clenched in a throat that just wanted to shout and yell at him to stop calling her.

Because even if she really wanted to help, even if she knew, that if you had the power to save someone, and you chose not to do it, you were nothing but a coward, and yet, Lucile could not move.

_She didn't have the strength._

Even if she was always brave, even if she was always kind, at the moment, she was also distraught and a little tired of being hurt.

And she would, oh, Lucile would be_ so_ hurt if Orion had come to her with the sole purpose of betraying her trust as others had one before him.

If he, the first being she had decided to approach and befriend, decided that she was not worth the effort, that she deserved nothing but to be despised and left to herself, alone, with her own weeping to fill the silence of her soul.

The man in black had repeated it often during her imprisonment, that she was not even worth the pity of others, let alone friendship.

She deserves nothing but hatred and dislike.

_Why_?

Lucile had often wondered why she had to be despised so much, why she didn't deserve to be heard, to be forgiven, _to be alive._

Why couldn't she be happy?

Why had she to suffer that way?

Why couldn't she simply love and be loved without being hurt?

Was it really so absurd for her to wish for something like that?

_\- Why – _she whispered to the void with her hand pressed on her ears and Orion's call to make her eyes sting.

She liked Orion.

She had liked him since the first time she had seen him and his sad eyes.

She had wanted to befriend him without a specific reason, just because she had liked him.

Was it really necessary to have a reason to like someone?

Lucile didn't think so.

She loved Sunstreaker and Sideswipe because she wanted to love both.

Nothing more than that.

Just, love.

_Her _love.

So she liked Orion because she wanted to like him. That was all.

No twisted rumination. No deep meaning.

Nothing too complicated, just, her feelings.

Those same feelings that now yelled at her to run to him, to help Orion, because if she liked him as she had claimed, then, she had to answer to his call, and because she knew, in spite of everything, that Orion was always a friend and never a foe.

However, even with that tormenting thought to shake her very soul, the door before her eyes was still closed, her form still motionless, and the denial still strong inside her noisy head.

She was fighting with herself, with her emotion and the desire to throw open the heavy door, run to him and save Orion from what she had feared for a long time, from the darkness she knew, waited for her along with the whisper and the madness.

It was dangerous out there, Lucile knew it more than anyone, and it was exactly because she knew how cruel the outside was, how dangerous it was for him to be there, that Lucile felt the need to run to Orion and take him with her inside the fortress.

_And yet, _because there was another "yet" in her reasoning, Orion should not have been there since the beginning.

Lucile frowned with her eyes still closed when the real reason that kept her pinned to the floor gave voice to new doubts, new unanswered questions.

_How?_

_How did he do that?_

_How did Orion sneak in her mind?_

Because Lucile, in the bottom of her heart, could not call otherwise what he just did, what truly held back.

She was smart, after all, and she could not accept his presence as a coincidence, not even, as a simple mistake, because there were only two ways to enter her mind.

A physical one and a spiritual one.

But if the first could easily be excluded given the certainty of being still asleep in the arms of her papa, Lucile could not say the same about the second option, and it was that very thought to make her waver and, at the same time, wonder about _who_ really Orion was for her to be able to do what only Sunstreaker and Sideswipe could accomplish.

_Connect with her soul._

Only those who were linked to her in body and soul could do that.

_Only a bond._

The word swirled before her eyes as a fluorescent banner when the concern she had kept locked inside her chest found a way to escape from the web of logic to put Lucile before the only possible answer, as much as absurd it might seem, because only a bound could allow two souls to touch and feel each other that way, but _how_?

How could it be possible for Orion to do that?

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had explained to her that, to bound, there must be an exchange between the parties, that you had to give something yours to the other to create an unbreakable bond.

Blood. Energy.

Everything was fine as long as it was something you owned, even your life, but she, she had not given anything to Orion except help, nothing more, nothing quite enough to explain the reason Orion's soul was inside her mind,_ her heart._

But she could feel his spirit beyond the door, the flicker of his voice when no one answered to his call, when she, did not answer to his call.

Orion was there, a few steps from her, engulfed in a darkness so thick and hungry that would soon devour his soul if she had done nothing to help him, but still, she did nothing.

_Why?_

She wanted to help him, after all, she really wanted to, but, _if it was all a trap_?

If was Orion trying to lure her outside, just to hurt her?

If was he waiting for the right moment to betray her, just as the others?

\- Lucile.

_Orion was suffering._

Lucile realized it with a flickering of her trembling heart when the whisper came out strangled, as if someone was choking him, and that, for her, was the proof that the darkness had begun to consume his spirit and drain his energy while he kept on calling her with the unwavering hope that, in the end, she would come to him.

\- Lucile.

_Please. Enough._

A pleading, hers, a weak whisper that Lucile blew between the hard line of the lips she soon curled into a grimace when the memory of an identical, hopeless call, _her_, hopeless call, reminded her how painful had been for her to be ignored.

To be left alone.

Alone, just like Orion was now.

Alone, as she had been once.

Alone as she didn't want him to be anymore.

Because if he had asked for her help, if Orion was there to call her name despite all the unanswered questions and fuzzy thoughts, it was because she had approached him in the first place, it was because she had called to him, it was because_ she_ had decided to be kind and help him, and even kindness entailed responsibilities.

_Her kindness entailed responsibilities_.

And Lucile had always assumed them.

She had done it when she had made the mistake of trusting someone who had sold her to the military, choosing to exchange her freedom with those of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as the responsibility of a daughter.

She did it when she blinked abruptly to clear her glossy gaze of the tears that, rolling down her pale cheeks, ended up with gathering on the sharp line of her chin before shattering with a hollow clink on the cold floor of the silent room.

A dull sound that, however, in Lucile's ears, between the chilling silence of her obstinacy and the noiseless suffering of Orion, burst abruptly as the bang of a gun.

Loud, clipping and disturbing like the scratch of nails on the blackboard, a din to which her frozen limbs answered with a start, pushing the heavy door of her fortress to let her sink in the darkness where the now unwavering and steady clatter of her footsteps hushed crudely the maddening whisper and the call to which, finally, Lucile chose to answer.

* * *

If ever there had been a chance for him to know how the world would have been if everything had been lost along with the hope and the war, then, Optimus Prime felt that his unlikely chance, the possibility to take look at a future in which he had lost had been granted to him at that time.

A glance that began to falter along with his sanity whenever the whisper, the scream, and the maddening voices tore the layer of reality to which Optimus clung desperately to survive to the desire to let go.

How many times had he wanted to do that?

To let go?

How many times had he wondered about how it felt to fall?

Many. Too many to count, but now that he had the chance, now that he could finally let himself fall, Optimus Prime refused to do so.

To let go.

But what if he already had?

What if he had already fallen?

What if he had already lost?

In what was he supposed to believe now?

In what he saw or in what he thought to know?

But what he thought to know?

_Nothing _hissed an angry voice to his left, but there was still a "left" there? And if so, which one?

How could he understand it if he didn't even have a body to move, a face to turn, _something_ to control_?_

There was nothing there, just as that hiss had said.

Darkness and nothing more for him to see, to feel, to _be._

Of him, of what he was, of who he thought to be, nothing more remained, only the echo of a voice that was beginning to get lost along with everything else.

_He_ was beginning to get lost along with everything else, and he could not help it.

But did he really want to stop that?

Did he really want to resist?

Optimus Prime didn't know, he didn't know anything anymore.

_But that was fine._

He didn't care about it, about something he didn't know.

Not even why, despite knowing nothing, remembering, nothing, his lips kept on chanting something. A name, maybe? But the name of whom?

Someone he knows?

Did that someone know him?

But…who was he now?

He didn't remember it.

Who was he?

Think was getting difficult with all those voices to hush the rambling of his nonsense, and he felt weak and tired.

Should he let go then?

But let go what?

Who?

He? But who was he?

_Darkness _rasped a hoarse voice above him. _Nothing anymore _laughed another voice.

Should he believe them?

Should he trust them?

Should he-

_\- Orion?_

Widening optics he no longer had, and tightening servos he no longer felt, Optimus Prime turned a body he no longer owned toward the call to which his very soul answered with a faint, hopeful whisper.

Too faint to overcome the uproar of the voice that now, threatened by that different new sound, had gained strength and new rage to oppose to the far call, so to hide him and his pitiful reply.

And Optimus no longer had the strength for that, the strength to get noticed, to be _found_.

Drowning was the only thing he could do, what was left for him to do.

Sink down, lower and lower, until of him would be left nothing more than an echo fated to vanish and then, finally fade.

Fade.

Did it hurt?

_No _hummed a soothing voice somewhere in that thick darkness.

_It didn't hurt._

Then it was fine if it didn't hurt. Yes. It was fine.

It was alr-

\- _Don't._

Something had grabbed him.

_A hand _he muttered to himself with a frown while the feeling of being just caught rekindled a little light in that pool of darkness.

A hand had grabbed him. But the hand of whom?

Someone he knew?

Was there someone else besides him there?

What did he want from him?

Why did he stop him?

Who was there with him?

Why didn't that stranger leave him alone?

_\- I'm here._

Who was there?

\- _Look at me._

Why had he to look at him?

\- _Orion._

_Lucile._

As a compressed spring freed by the weight that had brought it to the limit of its elastic deformation, so the name whispered by his shattered soul unburdened Optimus Prime from the weight of his own self-loathing, lightening his shapeless body to allow himself the climb from the sea of darkness that had drowned him until it had choked his voice.

A voice that, as he climbed the shaky ladder to reach the surface, grew stronger, clearer, and, once escaped the slimy void and regained his breath, called back the name of the young woman with impressive eyes who now eyed him with suspicion and a hint of concern.

\- You should not be here.

Her voice came out harder and sharper than Lucile had intended to, but the guilt and shame of having allowed the shadow to weaken him, of having waited too much, had hardened her voice and now, even the troubled gaze she aimed to the darkness she was squeezing in her sweaty hands.

\- How did you do that? – she pressed again with irritation, the faint move beneath her fingers to inform her about Orion's reactions – Why did you come here?

A long, awkward silence was the answer Orion, or at least, Orion's soul gave her before a warm breath not far from her cheek told Lucile that he was about to speak and maybe, as she feared, to hurt her with his word and motive.

\- I wanted to see you.

When the corner of her lips began to twitch, Optimus Prime became aware, with growing and deep horror, of having just said the wrong thing, because now, to twitch before his alarmed optics were not only Lucile's lips, but even the chin she pressed against her chest to hide the glittering of her tears.

Tears she swallowed back in shame while, under her cold fingertips Lucile could catch an identical shiver that made Orion shake, but if Optimus was trembling with horror, Lucile was trembling with confusion.

Because she had hoped, Lucile had hoped _so _much that the reason behind his arrival was not related to his desire to harm and hurt her, she had hoped for it _so much_, but she had _never_ really believed in it, in the chance to be right.

_Me too _whispered back the shy voice of her most timid side.

_I wanted to see you too _echoed her brave part, and when even the scared one followed the others, then, that faint, brittle whisper hushed the background voices, bringing Optimus Prime to raise the astonished gaze Lucile met with her own surprised and moved one.

\- I wanted to meet you too – she repeated softly, squeezing his hand before smile weakly and pulling him towards her – come with me.

\- Where to? – Optimus Prime asked instinctively, but even before his voice, it was his body to reply, taking the first step made of air and void with unwavering trust.

Lucile peered over her shoulder when a strange twinkle dyed her hair and figure of a gentle blue, a hue that brought the girl to soften instinctively her features when the faint gleam of Orion's electric eyes returned her gaze in the shadow that now had become kinder since her uneasiness was gone.

\- Somewhere safe.

The darkness smiled back at her when the word brought to Optimus's mind a strange sense of déjà vu.

_Somewhere safe._

She had said the same thing the first time they had met.

And just as that same time, she had been there when he needed someone to pick him up.

But it was not a coincidence for her to be with him when he needed her the most.

It could not.

She was his sparkmate, after all.

She was _the one._

And for that, as he followed her step by step, hand in hand, Optimus Prime could only thank that weak and despicable side of himself that he had always hated and tried to ignore, to hide, but that now, for the first time, did not seem so despicable after all.

\- I'm sorry.

_She had made it._

Lucile admired her own bravery when the apology she was holding back in her throat since the recovery of Orion finally managed to overcome the shutting of her lips, a whisper that, however, thanks to the abnormal silence around them, reached Optimus in the form of a shout that startled him.

\- Forgive me, young one, but I find it hard to understand the reason behind your sudden apology.

Stifling the laugh that his chivalrous way of speaking had made blossom in her chest, Lucile ventured another look behind her back, just as she had done from time to time, finding the usual thick darkness and the puzzled bright eyes that Orion aimed at her with a look that made her always feel funny.

_His eyes._

Lucile liked his eyes.

They were a little kinder now, a little less sad, _and a bit less hopeless now that she had chosen to free him from the pain s_colded her the angry voice of her conscience_, _a reproach Lucile raised against her selfishness once again when the memory of her hesitation overshadowed her faint smile.

The same selfishness for which she averted Orion's eyes to hide the guilt and fill her voice of more regret and displeasure for what she hadn't done in time.

\- I'm sorry.

_\- _You did nothing wrong, young one – retorted Optimus Prime with what remained of his deep voice, the discomfort of knowing that, between the two, he was the one who should apologize, to stiffen his optics and tone – you have nothing to apologize for, especially not to the despicable me.

\- You are not despicable – Lucile replied heatedly, almost as if he had just despised her, squeezing his hand to give more strength to her reproach – you are not despicable, Orion, and I _have _something to apologize for.

\- You've done nothing wrong to me – he tried to retort once again.

\- I have! I ignored you! I ignored your call!

No reply came at that time, and not because he wanted to let her feel guilty, but because Optimus Prime knew that she needed to vent her frustration, and let the silence fall between them was the only way to do it, a silence that Lucile filled with her angry admission of guilt with even more anger.

Even more distress.

\- I ignored you even if I heard your call. I didn't come sooner. I chose to wait and… and- the self-loathing choked whatever insult she was trying to move to her selfishness, but it was the gentle squeeze to her fingers, the soft grip around her trembling hands that severed her rambling at once.

And when Optimus Prime found two lost, timid, fearful beautiful eyes focused on him, though devoid of any form, everything about him seemed to soften before the beauty and kindness of her soul.

\- You were scared – he pointed out kindly, soothing with a gentle squeeze the trembling of her sweaty hand – there is no need to apologize for that.

Lucile was weak against kindness.

She knew it, and she hated herself for it, for being so easily manipulated by some kindness, kindness that some people had pretended to make her lower her guard and then, hurt her. Betray, her.

She remembered the pain, the mortification, the despair.

The grief.

Everything that had come with all that lies, but Orion's kindness was different.

He was different.

She _felt_ it.

He was sweet with her. He was kind with her. He…he loved her, _somehow._

Everything told her so.

The way his soul was embracing her form.

The way his eyes looked at her.

Orion and his reactions, his emotions, were honest, and honest Lucile wanted to be with him in turn because he deserved it.

He deserved it more than anyone else.

\- I was scared – she admitted in a timid voice, averting Orion's eyes to look at the imposing door just resurfaced from the shadow while her voice lowered to a pained whisper.

\- I was …. I was scared that you were trying to lure me out just to hurt me.

The darkness she was squeezing between her fingers seemed to freeze at those words, Optimus's reaction to the discomfort that her statement brought with the memory of what he still needed to know.

There were still so many questions.

Where he was.

What was the surrounding darkness.

Why he did not have a form but only a voice.

So many questions and still, too little time to ask for some answers.

But there was a particular question he needed to ask, there was something he needed her to know, a need that Lucile satisfied with her following, always kind words.

\- But you are different Orion, I've always known it- and she really wanted him to believe it, to believe that she_ felt_ his kindness as something true, something to hold dearly – And I like you even more for that – she exclaimed with an excited murmur without thinking of anything except the fact that Orion was just as she had believed him to be since the beginning, despite the words spoken by her papa that soon she forgot.

Because the strict and stiff Optimus Prime who Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had described to her with aversion, and the kind, awkward and sweet Orion were the same people. She felt it.

She _knew_ it.

An excitement that led Lucile to peek under her long eyelashes Orion's reaction to her confession, a reaction that she grasped through the contact with his hands made of shadow and darkness, hands that she felt tremble unexpectedly.

_Oh no._

\- Did… did you not like me?

The faltering of her voice and the way Lucile turned her face quickly snatched Optimus from the stunned silence in which he had fallen at her words, words that had taken his breath away along with the voice that, surely, would have trembled with emotion.

A bubble of warmth and elation that blew up when the sudden stiffness beneath his fingers made him realize how much his silence had hurt her and led to misunderstandings.

\- It's fine if you didn't, you know? – he heard her stutter clumsily- There are many people who didn't like me so... it's fine, really. It's-

\- I like you, Lucile. You don't have to doubt my affection for you.

A sheepish smile graced Lucile's features when she heard his vow to her.

So noble. So polite and considerate.

Orion was just as a knight who was vowing loyalty to his queen, a romantic thought that made her blush before her steps came to a halt and her hand pushed softly the imposing door of her fortress.

_They had arrived. _

The light of the room was blinding, even with just one of the gate opened, but for Lucile, that little square of light was enough to stand on the threshold with half of her body on the other side and her hands still embraced by the darkness.

Hands she squeezed gently around the shadow that filled her palms, a clutch to which Optimus Prime was slow to reply, surprised as he was by the vision of such blinding light.

\- I can't allow you to go back, Orion.

Could such imposition be more like a conquest than a deprivation?

It could, for him, it could, for Optimus Prime.

_She would not let him go._

Optimus Prime would miss a beat if he ever had a human heart to make flutter with the turmoil that her words had sparked in him, a mess of feelings from which he struggled to extricate himself while Lucile's kind voice lulled the mess inside his head.

\- I need to know how you got here – she explained in a placid tone, her eyes focused where Optimus should have had a head if he had not been made by darkness – I need to know what kind of bond exist between us.

Bond.

_Sparkmate._

That was a blow that Optimus struggled to take without leaking the dread for something that for him, as Cybertronian, was natural to accept, to take in, but that for her, for Lucile, the enigmatic, fascinating Lucile, would represent a boundary, an obligation.

_Chains._

That word that had given him someone only for him to love, only for him to protect and cherish, a word that for him meant freedom, for her, for Lucile, would have meant imprisonment.

Chains to use on Lucile to bind her, to impose his love.

_No._

He could not do that.

He could not do that to her, as much as dear and beloved she already was for him, he could not do that.

No.

She was too young for that. Too young for him.

But, in that case, was he willing to step aside?

Was he _really_ ready to let her go?

Be held by darkness was an image that best suited a condition for which scream in fear than smile or blush, and yet, Lucile did both at the same time, staring in confusion and wonder at the shadow that now was embracing her cheek gently, a tender touch that made her wonder if Orion had really understood what she wanted to do.

_Keep him with her._

How long, not even she knew that. She needed time, after all. How much, still, she didn't know nor she would, but was he really okay with that?

Was he really okay with her keeping him?

\- Did you really want to be kidnapped by me?

Where she found the bravery to ask him that particular question, well, not even Lucile knew that, but when the gentle stroke on her cheek, instead of weakening, softened its touch, she thanked whatever had driven her to be a little more reckless and self-confident.

\- It will be my pleasure and honor to be abducted by you, lovely one.

The rush of blood that flowed in her face was such, that soon, even her ears and the tip of her nose turned into a deep embarrassing red, a reaction that Optimus Prime found fascinating and endearing as it was everything about Lucile.

_More _whispered the fascinated voice of his mind.

He wanted to see more of her reaction.

Selfish. Hungry. Reckless.

Optimus knew to be all that and more, but... did it really matter now?

What would his Autobot or the soldier have thought of his disappearance was really more important than how Lucile had just bent her slim neck in order to bring down her long curl and hide her embarrassment?

Their glance of worry and disorientation were more important than the shy peek of Lucile's impressive eyes?

_No._

Because they could survive without him for a while, they would manage somehow, but he needed her _at that exact moment,_ he needed Lucile in order to find himself and be back to his pedes with something more than memories and bolts in his servos.

He needed something to go on.

He needed her, to go on.

\- So…I'm going to kidnap you. Okay?

Had she really just asked for his permission?

Lucile would have covered her face in shame for how silly and funny had been her sentence and behavior, but _what else could she do, _complained her inner self.

He…he asked for it.

Orion had given her his consent_, his approval,_ as ridiculous the situation might seem, so, why not?

She had his permission, after all, and maybe, maybe he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him.

Maybe.

\- I'm going to do it now – she advised him with a hesitant voice, squeezing the darkness and her troubled eyes to vent her uneasiness – I'm going to do it now, alright?

\- Of course – he replied calmly, with a mild voice that made her notice that Orion was _really_ waiting for her to…to kidnap him.

\- It's silly, right?_ This_ \- and Lucile gestured to them - My attempt to kidnap you – she continued, lowering her troubled gaze on the darkness that filled her palm – I'm silly for wanting to kidnap you, right?

\- You are not silly – was the instant reply Optimus gave to her in a stern tone, as to reproach her for having devalued herself like that– you are not silly, Lucile.

Maybe it was the way his voice seemed to soften in saying her name, or maybe it was her shameful wish to be a little longer with him, or still, it was her fear of returning alone in the dark, she didn't know, but, whatever the reason, when Lucile sketched the first step backwards, she did not let him go.

\- You may feel confused at the beginning – she whispered softly while her eyes sought Orion's confused gaze to give him something to watch when the surprise to _notice _the difference would make him feel out of place.

\- But don't panic – kept on her gentle voice – even my papa were anxious at first.

\- About what? – the Transformers whispered back while the blinding light of the room drew a halo upon the graceful young woman before him, but even before her soft lips could give him the answer he sought, it was the gentle squeeze of her hands to make him lower his hesitant gaze and then, hold his breath.

When Orion lifted on her his restless and confused eyes, Lucile found herself doubting a little of what she was doing _to him_, something too strange and too scary to accept without flinching, anxiety she would try to soothe after she had closed her door and led both to safety.

But there was still a step away from it, a step that, however, was not for her to take.

\- Orion.

When the leader of the Autobot attempted the first hesitant step, Lucile took one back with all the care she could manage, strengthening the grip around the hands she felt shaking beneath her fingers while her voice came back to call his name as support.

His breath. His eyes. His soul.

Orion's was shaking before her concerned eyes after each step.

Of fear. Anxiety. Doubt.

His eyes, just as his hands, shook with too many emotions to let her know which ones were Orion's feeling right now.

Was he scared of what she did to him?

Was he angry?

Worried?

Repented?

Nothing could help her grasp and soothe one of those swirling emotion, but still, he was struggling to take, with all the dizziness he must feel, and all the insecurities he must have, one step after another, slowly, as those who try to walk for the first time.

Hesitant, confused, but so dear to her for all the diligence and earnestness he was putting in his attempt to understand the change, and in doing so, to understand a little part of _her _too without doubting her even for a moment.

And when the blinding light of the room touched her hands and the male ones she was now holding so gently, Optimus Prime could finally allow himself to release a tremulous, shaky breath while Lucile's smiling eyes praised his bravery and with a final, uncomfortable step, the leader of the Autobot overstepped the threshold of the room where a broad, male, human back was the last thing to be seen before the closing of the door and the resume of the madness beyond it.

* * *

Short, a little shorter than the previous chapters, but still equally challenging to write for me.

I'm moving in small steps, maybe too small for someone, but it takes time to do something good, and I care too much about the relationship between Optimus and Lucile to hasten things, so I hope you'll bear with me a little! In the next chapter we will see how Lucile had turned Optimus in, well, you _know,_ and there will be the awaited(?) meeting/clash between the twins and Optimus inside the head of their lovely sparkling.

As always, I offer my thanks to those who, despite the tardiness, keep on following the story, and special thanks to those who will share their impressions of the chapter with me.

See you soon _( I hope_), Hagne


	12. 12 - Family business

Difficult choices, life was full of those.

Will you leave or stay?

Will you surrender or take a stand?

Will you turn right or choose left?

And then, will be black or white the brush with which you will paint your life?

Every question, _every single of them_, put you in front of a crossroads where life had left those choices along its path, cobblestone you will eventually begin to collect and store in the pocket once you had decided which one pick up, choices that would have consequently weighed your steps, leaving deep tracks of your shoes on its once stainless ground.

_Past _was the denomination humanity had given to those footprints you had left, the sum of all those cobblestone you had kept in your pocket, the choices that had made your journey sometime longer, other times safer, and sometimes, so tiring to make you waver on the spot and make you ask yourself if it was worth it.

But was it really?

_Who knows,_ every cobblestone was different in many ways, after all.

Different shape.

Different weight.

Different texture.

So, as much as different had been the choice you had had to take, the path to which those same choices had led you would have been equally different.

And the new little, annoying stone Sideswipe was going to pick up, the choice he had to make this time was so tricky and nagging to make him frown deeply and grimace at once.

\- Can I-

A strangled breath followed the angry gesture of the hand Sideswipe had raised sharply to hush the useless chit chat of the fleshling in front of him, the hand the Autobot brought down with an annoyed crease of lips and a dangerous glint of eyes he placed for a second on the trembling shape, biting behind the hard line of his mouth a hiss before crouching and go back to his choice.

His_ important_ choice specified the Transformers to himself with a grunt.

He made_ only _important choices, after all.

_Are you done to make a fool of yourself or do you want to embarrass me and Lucile more than usual?_

The biting and not less angry mental reproach of his _oh so_ moody brother made the Transformers raise _metaphorically _his optics to the sky in an act of annoyance that however, judging from the thundering of vocal chords in the stomach of his big brother, had not gone unnoticed.

But what did Sunstreaker know about his trouble?

His important task?

About his _important _choice?

_Nothing._ That's what.

Sunstreaker was such a pain in the aft with his mood swings, had they not already passed the stage human called pregnancy?

Well, his brother had always been nagging and loony, but _so _moody? Never.

Could Sunstreaker still suffer of the gestation of Lucile he wondered to himself, foolishly forgetting of the _not_ so negligible synchronization of practically _everything _between them_, _starting from emotions, feelings, and _even _not so nice thoughts that led a big, pale hand to knock him to the ground with a loud '_thud_ that made some people look in their direction while the human in front of them flinched and Lucile, after a moment of mute daze, clung to the arm she tried to bring down when Sunstreaker prepared himself for a second blow.

-_ Papa_!

Lucile's cry bounced on the bubble of anger that had clouded Sunstreaker's vision as a tiny stone that was able only to bend the surface, a little, _tiny_ lump that the disturbing hiss stuck between his clenched teeth puffed up while a twin angry grimace crumpled the beautiful face of the man on the ground with now a bloody chin and a scratched cheek.

\- What the Pit was that for? – howled his twin with his black hair ruffled, a puff of dust upon his cheek as he got up from the ground – are you glitching?

\- Me? – grumbled Sunstreaker indignantly while Lucile tried, moreover uselessly, to bring down the arm that Sunstreaker raised one inch above his head in a fit of disbelief for the idiocy of his brother, lifting his sparkling with it as a fleshling would raise a sack of potatoes.

But the girl with a pretty yellow dress who was now anchored to his brother's arm with her sparkly eyes big as colorful marbles was no sack of potatoes, but more precious stuff, a beloved and familiar weight that filled Sideswipe's arms when the Autobot tore from the brotherly arms his sparkling with a horrified and _accusatory_ look.

\- _You are a monster._

Pinching the bridge of his nose with his longs fingers in a vain attempt to stretch his nerves after a w_hole _day spent in the company of his brainless brother, Sunstreaker gave his brother the benefit of the doubt, a chance to make him believe that his circuits had not stopped working long time ago, but when Sideswipe, patting Lucile's head in a comforting gesture despite the adolescent seemed more puzzled by the '_pat pat_ than the offence that Sunsteaker, _in his twin's distorted opinion,_ had given to her, _accused _him of having almost dropped and_ hurt_ Lucile, well, it was then that a fire _exploded_ under his shiny yellow aft.

\- _What did you just say_?

Flinching a little under the powerful voice of his older brother, Sideswipe found himself with his own raised finger pointed vehemently at the snarling face of his twin with nothing to say until the Autobot, puffing his chest, switched in his combat mode, or, how Sunny had annoyingly renamed it, in _hysterical sissy mode._

\- Careless and now even deaf, my, my, _my_, you are getting old badly, brother.

Sunstreaker's strong jaw twitched a little for the high-pitched voice and the vile insult addressed to his perfect self, but if his brother could reach new levels of irksomeness, well, even him could show Sideswipe _how much_ unpleasant he could become.

\- Don't overdo brother or your rusty processor will glitch for all the crap that your mouth set free all the time.

-Want me to get you a garage where you can rest your _fat, flabby aft, _brother?

\- And do you want me to show you how I can push your helm up to-

-_ Papa_! - shrieked Lucile in utter embarrassment, covering her face as even her ears flushed red when her father, deaf to her call and pleading eyes explained _in detail_ how he would have pushed his creator's helm up to his own drainpipe, nothing with a real offensive value for a human, automakers metaphors could not be considered rude or inappropriate whatever the context, but for aliens, and, in that case, for alien machines, they were literal _swears _Lucile was able to recognize and even understand, _unfortunately for her._

\- When will you try to fix the mess of rusty bolts that there is in your slagging helm?

\- And when will you stop to nag me and make my fans spin for your slagging mood swings?

-_ Glitch-head!_

_\- Son of Unicron_!

\- Sir, please-

\- _Shut up squishy_!

Whining, the poor peddler who had tried to dampen the outburst of the two beautiful men in front of his stall looked away with a shiver at the angry and synchronized growl of the twins, glancing curiously at the young girl who tried laboriously to grab the hands the twins raised to push each other as both of them continued to bicker as little children over a candy.

A glance that Lucile noticed when she tried to bring down, for the umpteenth time, the arm she then squeezed to her chest so to prevent Sideswipe from returning the faint shove of a jumpy Sunstreaker who had stretched a mischievous grin for the outraged expression of his twin, smiling sheepishly at the poor man in an attempt to muffle the tension.

Faintly, the man returned the smile, a little more relaxed to know that one out of three was a normal and pacific person.

And when Lucile returned to watch the two bickering twins with a hint of affection and docility in her gaze, she gave the man the possibility to take a closer look to the wacky picture he had in front of him, a family routine he noted with a smile when the lack of a real malice became evident even to him, especially because the hands that the little girl was squeezing to her chest embraced gently her own.

They were almost _cute_ in a really strange and eccentric way.

Cuteness that however ended the exact moment the twins saw from the corner of their eyes that unnerving twitching in the mouth of that foolish human, foolish enough to mock _them, _apparently.

It began with a roar, an engine's roar that made the peddler frown and look to the right and to the left to see the source of that odd sound.

Was it the popcorn machine?

The generator?

No. It was close, too close to be mistaken for a trickery of tiredness or flurry.

It was a ringing in his ears.

A hiss that very soon made his skin crawl when, along with the angry roar came the frosty breath of a mouth _too_ close to his cheek as the ground faded under his feet and a pair of cold and pale hand crumpled the collar of his shirt.

\- Can you believe it Sideswipe? This squishy was laughing_ at us._

\- ... I didn't... I -

\- _What_? Are you making fun of us again, fleshy?

\- Of course, he did- snarled Sideswipe with an annoyed look on his face, yanking the now bleached man an inch from his grim face.

\- Maybe it's our turn to laugh; don't you think so, Sunny?

\- For once, brother, we agree on the same thing.

Fidgeting, the peddler gulped fear and oxygen as his eyes searched desperately for something to look at, _anything_ except those electric blue eyes that tried to pierce his skull and see what was in his head, but even when his eyes managed to meet the curious gaze of some passer-by, his voiceless help request was sloughed off once his possible rescuers understood from _who _they were supposed to save him.

Two muscular, tall and menacing men who a young and petite girl tried to push away with the same chance of victory that a butterfly would have in rejecting the crushing of two malicious snakes.

\- I wonder what color are your lungs – wondered Sunstreaker with a cold and apathetic voice, yanking the man to his side to look him in the eyes and unfold a snide grin for his twin - wanna bet brother?

\- Count me in Sunny – mused Sideswipe, an identical cruel crease to tilt the hard line of his lips - I bet on the black.

\- Gray for me.

\- _Papa_! Stop!

Sinking her feet in the ground to give herself strength, Lucile tried hard to move Sideswipe and Sunstreaker with her own weight, but it was useless.

Her attempt to curb their wrath against humanity had always been useless.

In all honesty, Lucile had never had the strength nor the will to oppose what she knew was natural as killing a Decepticon for them.

Hate humanity was logical and in their character, it was enough their simple breathing to annoy them.

Even now, that poor man was not being threatened for some non-existent mockery or for having wronged her creators, his only crime was to be born as human, not a real sin per se, and, of course, not something he could do something about, but a sufficient reason, for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, to deserve a good meal of Cybertronian swears and a not so veiled threat of a slow and painful death.

Lucile knew better than anyone how cruel and wild Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could become, and yet, she had never been afraid of that trait, not even once.

Because do not accept it meant to not accept them as they were.

As humans, such coldness, such cruelty could not be accepted or justified, but she had stopped to think as a human long time ago.

It was useless anyway.

A carnivore could not understand the way of thinking of a herbivore.

The sun could not try to be like the moon.

So a human could not expect to grasp the way of living and identify himself in a machine.

They were what they were.

Different.

Two parallels lines destined to never meet.

But if were you not any of the two?

If were you a lonely point in the middle of those two lines?

_If were you like her?_

Then, in that case, you had to move and meet one of those lines yourself, and Lucile had chosen to walk and join the metallic and cold one, emptying her pocket and throwing away the stone she had picked until her rebirth, to start over.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had become the only two stone she had kept in her pocket, _in her heart_, the shape that filled her palm and balanced her form as she walked through the line, but now, _now_ a new stone had fallen on her way, and it was left to her the choice to decide if ignore it and go further or try to reach out.

Actually, Lucile had already reached out to touch it, and despite her fear, it had been warm and harmless, but even heavy and bruised, as if someone had kicked it and trampled on it several times.

A warm, bruised and heavy stone she now kept hidden in the shadow of her crouched figure.

She was hesitating.

Even her attempt to help the peddler was a way to dodge the question, to take time.

In the end, she was not so different from her creators.

For her, that poor man was a pretext to evade a difficult choice, nothing more than that.

_A scapegoat_.

But for how long she wanted to escape?

For how long can she feign ignorance?

How long she wanted to hesitate?

_No more._

When the sky turned black and a new weight was added on the bridge of their nose, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker followed the delicate hand Lucile had slowly withdrawn to pick up from the stall another pair of glasses she then put on her nose just as she had done with the ones of her creators, looking meanwhile the peddler who the twins had just freed from their grip to stare at her through the dark glass of the spectacles.

\- Hmm.

Tapping with a finger the cheap plastic of the frames that made the Autobot snort unpleasantly, Sideswipe looked at his smiling sparkling with a curious gaze, scanning the glasses shaped as triangle she had picked for herself.

Sulking for having been robbed of the _difficult _choice he should have taken instead, Sideswipe grumbled under his breath with an angry look that brought the peddler to seek shelter under his stall, but when the tip of his finger recognized the form of his glasses, a smug smile stretched his lips as his arm squeezed Lucile in a strong and firm hug.

\- _Aww_, You are so cute.

Smiling fondly against the fabric of his shirt, Lucile returned the hug with her eyes half-closed for the familiar coolness that Sideswipe's body radiated, and when his finger encircled her chin to make her raise the head from his chest, a_ 'pop_ followed the match of their forehead and the clash of her glasses and those star-shaped of Sideswipe.

\- Good choice sugar ball.

\- Do you like it?

\- Like it? - echoed Sideswipe in a pensive tone, squeezing Lucile in another hug that lifted her from the ground – I love them!

\- _Tsk._

Close as she was to him, Lucile managed to notice the exact moment in which Sideswipe's vein throbbed in response of the loud '_tks_ of Sunstreaker, a reaction to which followed the turning of the red twin on his heel with Lucile still closed in his arms to face his _grudging _twin who stared at him behind his hearts shaped glasses with a sharp grin.

-_ Ah_! Hearts!_ How feminine, _those glasses are perfect for a touchy _lady _like you Sunny_. _Give me a five sugar ball.

With one finger still pointed mockingly to his brother, Sideswipe reached for the hand that Lucile had raised instinctively to hit his opened palm, but even before their palm could touch, Sunstreaker's long fingers had embraced Lucile's hand, cushioning the collision and forcing Sideswipe to include his brother's hand in his grip.

\- _You-_

With an elegant and nimble spin, Sunstreaker managed to dodge the fist of Sideswipe, smiling sharply as his long fingers grabbed firmly Lucile's shoulder to pull his sparkling to his chest and admire with_ insane_ amusement how Sideswipe ended with hugging the air and fall to the ground with a loud '_puff._

_-_ Are you sure it's me who is aging badly brother? After all, it's_ you_ who had a short memory, because _I am _the fastest.

\- You-

\- Yes. _Me._

With a leap worthy of a sprinter, Sideswipe was back on his feet, and even before Lucile could ask him if he was hurt or reach out for him, his shadow had already covered Sunstreaker's sneering face.

_-_ _You!_ How dare you interrupt us?_ That _was a _'Sideswipe and Lucile's moment_! – howled the twin angrily, digging his nails in the tender skin of his brother when Sunstreaker dared to _snort _at his recrimination –Mind your own business Sunny!

\- Lucile is _my _business brother – and this time, it was the turn of Sideswipe to feel the nails sink in his skin while Lucile's hand, just as a rose surrounded by thorns, remained unharmed from the exchange of harassment among the twins.

\- Did I ever interrupt you or Lucile when you teach her to do those silly scribbles?

\- _It's called art _Sideswipe, something you could never understand!

\- _Art_? My farts are more artistic than any doodle you've done!

\- You are _so_ vulgar - hissed Sunstreaker with a disgusted look as his hands covered Lucile's ears and Sideswipe grimaced in disbelief.

-_ Me_? Don't you dare to be haughty and mighty with me Sunny! I am not the one who walks naked for the house while we have breakfast!

A grunt escaped from Sunstreaker's lips at the accusation of his twin who still pointed him with his _slagging_ finger, bringing him to do the same, tapping angrily his shoulder.

\- Rather than be grateful to let you admire every day such a beautiful and perfect being as me you dare to complain. _How ungrateful._

\- Grateful? And for what I have to feel grateful? Do you_ really_ think that I_ have_ to feel grateful to have your pimply flat aft as a greeting of good morning?

\- _How dare you. _My aft is -

\- Pimply, and flabby if I have to be honest.

\- You son of a - a dazzling flash forced Sunstreaker to squint his eyelids with a hiss and bite back the swear Sideswipe was ready to send back with full force if the whistle of the instant camera Lucile was holding had not silenced him almost with a scolding manner.

Patiently, Lucile waited for the machine to work as the twins put aside their fury to look at the old camera that, after a croak and cough, spat in Lucile's hand the funny and _ridiculous _photograph of two grown men who teased each other with a finger as primary school children.

\- It's nice that you get along so well with each other, papa.

\- Get along? - grumbled Sideswipe in a low and numb tone, his eyes that scanned the photograph with a frown.

\- Of course - his sparkling asserted peacefully, pointing him and Sideswipe with a smile- don't you see? You and papa seemed to have fun here, look.

She was right.

As much as annoyed they seemed to be, there was almost an amused glint in the startling blue eyes hidden behind the glasses, the real reason why Lucile had not _really_ tried to stop them since they were only, well, _joking._

\- It's almost cute how you show your affection for each other, papa. It's almost like a kid pulling the pigtails of the girl he likes.

-Whoa whoa, go easy with such absurd comparison sugar ball.

\- He is right, _for once,_ Lucile - intruded Sunstreaker with a flat voice, a cool statement that clashed greatly with the gentle caress he gave to her hair - you let your imagination run wild too often.

Blinking for the startling but still gentle _tap_ on her nose, Lucile stared at the photograph intensely before taking it in her pocket, looking up on her creators.

\- Still, I think that papa - and she looked at Sideswipe - would have been a beautiful girl.

\- Why_ I_ have to be the female, it's Sunny who wears those girly glasses.

\- _You're embarrassing me_.

\- I did not choose those glasses for him because they were girly papa - scolded him Lucile with an obvious tone, pointing at Sideswipe's star-shaped glasses - as I did not choose those glasses for you randomly.

\- As I thought - mused Sunstreaker with interest.

After all, Lucile was too clever to do things _randomly._

\- I chose those for me because if you overturn the triangle, it became a sign of victory, see - and just as she had finished saying that, the twins bent their neck to see that, as often happens, Lucile was right.

\- I still don't understand this thing you do all the time.

A small laughter bubbled in Lucile's chest when Sideswipe tried to copy her habitual pose that appeared in every photograph she had taken during their life as a human, even in the one she had kept in her pocket.

It was Lucile's hallmark in Sunstreaker opinion, a habit that Sideswipe found adorable.

\- Thus, I didn't choose the heart for papa because he is girly, but because hearts mean love, and I love papa and his big, gentle heart.

_How cunning._

\- I love you too.

A wide smile lighted up Lucile's face when she heard Sunstreaker's murmur against her hair, taking Sideswipe's hand to make him look at her and delete the sulking expression from his face.

\- And I chose those star shaped glasses for you, papa, because you remind me of a star. Beautiful and so shiny to always bring me home.

_Oh._

Sideswipe's lips parted to say something, _anything _to well, to a confession, a confession of filial love alright, but still a confession, and he was not good with confession, in reality, he was not good with any display of affection.

They made him sweat and fidget, because, despite the appearance, between the two, the more clumsy and sensitive toward Lucile's love was him, and not Sunstreaker.

No. His brother was much better at handling Lucile's fondness than him although he was the one to cling to Lucile all the time.

It was ironic how the true shy mech between them was_ him_.

\- Well...I...thank y-

\- You're useless.

Silence.

\- _Why? - _mumbled Sideswipe as every wire in his processor crackled in response at the acid remark of his brother - Why do you have to interrupt_ every single slagging special_ moment with Lucile_?_

\- You just answered your question. _Thank you - _and a grunt, loud and thundering rumbled in Sunstreaker's throat - Your sparkling had just confessed her love to you and all you can say is _thank you?_ Really brother, you're insensitive, it would not surprise me if Lucile stopped loving such a glitch-head.

_Slag._

The shocked look that his brother showed him startled both Sunstreaker who struggled to well, to do anything and Lucile who then yelped when the man in front of her lowered his head, dejected and almost_ tearful._

\- I...I'm sorry.

_He had done it._

That one was the first and anxious thought that crossed Sunstreaker's mind as his eyes traveled on the depressed man in front of him, a view so unusual to give him the creeps and make him numb, so much so that when Lucile slipped from his arms to hug Sideswipe he did not even flinch.

Grasping in her hand the light shirt on his shoulder, Lucile hugged Sideswipe's waist in a gentle embrace, patting his back in a soothing way as she tried to comfort him as she could.

\- He was joking, papa, you know I'll never stop loving you.

\- Lucile is right, I...I- _oh slag_ that was ridiculous!

_\- Put yourself together for Primus's sake, Sideswipe!_

_-_ _Papa_!_ \- _Lucile scolded him_, _feeling Sideswipe's chin rest on her head as his arms returned the hug - don't be so stingy, apologize to papa.

_Stingy._

His gentle, quiet and adorable sparkling had just called him stingy.

\- _Fine._

Grumbling, Sunstreaker tried to be less _stingy, _after all, Sideswipe seemed really wounded by his joke.

_How troublesome, _why he had to have such a tenderhearted bro-

It was sudden, unexpected, and yet, when Lucile, still surprised by a yelp of pain behind her, tried to look at Sunstreaker, her world turned upside down as Sideswipe placed her on his shoulder with a thundering laugh in his chest and a familiar pair of heart-shaped glasses tight in his fist before run away.

\- Who is the fastest between us now _brother_?

Rubbing his eyes with his sleeves, Sunstreaker tried to find among the crowd of people that son of Unicron of Sideswipe, but the tears in his eyes made his vision blurred, yet, if his eyes could not reach him, well, there was still his voice, and the furious howl that vibrated in the air attracted Lucile's worried gaze and that one of the people Sideswipe was surpassing in his escape toward freedom.

\- Now I understand the function of this thing.

Think while being upside down was not an easy task, least of all if her support was running at inhuman speed, but when Lucile managed to focus her attention on Sideswipe's hand, the sign of victory to which her creator was grinning so wickedly, the glasses in his hand and the memory of Sunstreaker's tearful eyes made her realize _what _her creator had just done.

\- You were lying!

When Lucile's hand began to hit his back, Sideswipe released another loud and thundering laugh from his chest, attracting the gaze of a couple of people who was pondering the idea of stopping or not the beautiful laughing man with a grumbling young girl on his shoulder.

\- _Bad papa_! You tricked us! We were worried about you, and you tricked us!

\- Oh, don't be so angry sugar ball I-

A pinch on his side made him scream in surprise, but when Lucile tried to bite him Sideswipes managed to dodge the attack shrugging but making Lucile scream in response.

_\- What the slagging are you doing to my sparkling Sideswipe!_

Cringing at the hiss through the common-link, Sideswipe speeded up the pace instinctively, because be bold was a thing, be stupid was another, and the red twin knew that he had been lucky to take by surprise his brother, because, in the end, the fastest among them was _really _Sunstreaker.

He, at least, was the luckiest one, and since he had already wasted his lucky moment, he might as well wait for the arrival of the storm with something in his stomach.

\- How about an ice cream sugar ball?

\- Ice cream? - echoed Lucile as Sideswipe decided to stop his foolish flight, putting Lucile gently to the ground.

\- Yes, ice cream, don't you like the idea? – proposed again her creator, dusting off her yellow dress before take her hand and move toward a stand of sweets.

\- No, I meant, I want to, but pap-

\- Oh don't worry sugar ball, he'll be here sooner than you think.

\- He'll be angry with you papa, you know it, right?

Hmph.

_Angry _was a euphemism, Sunny would have been _furious_ with him.

\- But you will protect me sugar ball, I know it- he stated smugly, getting a full smile from Lucile.

\- Of course, I will papa, but after you have apologized to him for having put your fingers in his eyes, you hurt him.

_It serves him right for interrupting his and Lucile's moment,_ but obviously, he did not say it out loud, instead, he put the hearts shaped glasses he had stolen on his head, grinning wickedly to the following question of Lucile.

\- Don't worry; I gave him a new and more appropriate pair of glasses to use.

A sound of breaking glass led the peddler hidden under his stall to venture a rapid look beyond the curtain that protected him from whatever was still outside, but when silence welcomed his ears, finally, the man decided to put his whole head out, and may god forgive him for his recklessness, but when he saw _him_, well, laugh was natural as breathing.

The shimmer of the gold chain that fell on his shoulder was embarrassing.

The spindly frame was embarrassing.

_He_ was embarrassing with such a flashy thing, and that was funny since he loved flashy things, but _that thing_, those glasses, with their pointy edges and oh Primus so _vulgar _color were more appropriate for an old lady than for a now pissed off beautiful man.

_\- I heard that pink is the new __must__ among old lady._

-_ Laugh all you want Sideswipe, but as soon as I'll have you I-_

_\- Papa? Is something wrong?_

Baffled for the interruption, Sunstreaker swallowed the threat once he heard Lucile's voice through the common-link, an intrusion that he_ knew, _someone incredibly stupid had planned.

_\- Lucile, please, I have to talk with-_

_\- Me right? Papa had told me that you wanted to talk with me. Is something wrong?_

_\- Yes Sunny, is something wrong? I expected to hear more __emphasis __in your words, as slagg-_

_\- Moderate your language before Lucile Sideswipe!_

_\- Or what?_

_\- Papa, please don't-_

_\- Or I will rip every wire of your language system until you will speak as a slagging creator!_

_\- You said slag yourself! __Who__ is the bad creator now?_

\- Sir? Is ...something the matter?

From where he took the courage to ask, not even the peddler knew it, but he had to because _he_ was smiling.

That strange man was smiling, and yet, it was a fake smile.

Stiff. Aloof. And scary.

A smile that Sunstreaker widened until the corners of his mouth touched his cheekbones in a horrible, horrible mask of cold fury that made the man pity who had unleashed a smile like _that._

\- Just some family business to which I have to attend to.

* * *

Sit back.

As far as Optimus Prime could remember, there had never been time for him to simply sit back.

How could it be_?_

Rest and take a day off were necessary actions of _every _living being, but for him, for Optimus Prime, it was not such a natural matter, in fact, he was actually having some difficult to, well, _to do nothing._

Hilarious, but it was the plain and still ridiculous truth.

Cybertronians did not sit back. Optimus Prime did not sit back, he was not accustomed to something like that, to simply _slack off._

Anyway, what did it mean exactly?

What should he do?

Had he just to stand still or he had to do something?

To talk was admitted?

_How unnerving._

The '_clink_ of the chains followed his move when Optimus changed position under the shift of his thoughts, attracting straightway the eyes of the strange being dressed in tin that the book he had taken from the shelves to, well, to do _at least something_, called him _knight, a_ protector, just like him, the guardian to whom Lucile had asked to watch over him until her return.

And yet, judging by the picture he was looking at, the knight to his right, more than a protector, looked more like a jailer, the handcuff on his wrist that chained Optimus to the ground was a further proof of his reasoning.

A precaution, or, at least, that had been what Lucile had whispered in the void with her long black hair to hide her gaze before the darkness beyond the door swallowed her slim figure, leaving him to his thoughts.

And Optimus was not fond of such pastime, so, he had decided to avoid thinking about things, to do nothing about it.

Lucile and the room, he could think of that, of her and of his odd situations.

Of his imprisonment.

However, there was no fear or worry on his part, and the reason for the tranquility that lingered inside him despite the unfavorable appearances resided in the fact that Optimus Prime did not consider himself in danger.

If Ironhide had been there with him, he would have laughed at his naivety.

Not only he had been separated from his real body, but he had been locked in a room with a jailer to watch over him and chains _to 'clink_ at his every move, so how could he not be afraid, or, at least, troubled?

Well, he could.

_What a naïve bot._

Or was he really?

Because, if from the outside it seemed that he was held captive, from inside, it seemed the opposite, and it was not a fact of being naïve or not, because it was enough a closer look to notice some important details able to clear up the misinterpretation.

First of all, the knight was indeed next to him, but he had his back_ at _him, while the blade in his hand instead of his direction, pointed the door, as he was ready to shield Optimus from what awaited him outside that room, then, the chains.

They were heavy and with a merciless appearance, but its length allowed him to reach the shelves and move around the room freely, not that Optimus had tried to move from where Lucile had helped him to sit, his current _state_ was something he was still trying to assimilate after all.

The chains clinked sharply when Optimus outstretched the arm to observe under the warm light of the large chandelier what really troubled him while the knight glanced away, leaving the leader of the Autobot to his silent examination.

Gently, the Autobot brushed his fingertips on the tender skin of the forearm, observing with fascination how the epidermis reacted to the touch, shivering for the sudden albeit imperceptible pressure.

Human's skin was more sensitive than he had ever imagined.

It was soft, warm, and subject to continuous stimuli.

It was fascinating, yes, but even a proof of how frail humankind was compared to Cybertronians.

Obviously, Optimus had always taken into account human frailty, Sam had reminded him constantly of how breakable they were, but he had never _truly_ understood how ephemeral they were in reality.

_And it scared him._

Having learned how easily humans could become affected from their surrounding scared him, but above all, what really troubled and intrigued him at the same time was how easily they could become the prey of their own feeling.

Pain. Pleasure.

Optimus knew those feelings very well.

He was a machine made of metal instead of flesh, yes, but he was a machine with a heart and a soul, able to feel and to get hurt, and yet, he had never experienced _such a thing._

_It was frightening_ and suggestive how much a human could feel, how deep and bootless their feelings could become.

Everything was amplified, _exasperated_.

It was like falling.

A fall that, however, had nothing to do with what he had imagined for himself.

Because, if Optimus had imagined it as quick and painless, what he had felt as human, what he had f_ound out _as a human had terrified him.

If he had to convey what he felt at the moment, how it was to _feel like a human_ for him, Optimus would have compared it to a slump of someone into a bootless pit while you feel _everything _as you fall.

The cold air that howled from the bootless bottom of the hole that scratched the skin and made it shiver in search of warmth, the dreadful feeling of helplessness of not being able to cling to something and fight the force that push you down, and the wild swirling of feelings that did not have the time to turn the face in a mask of dread or fear before falling apart, leaving you and your heart bare and unsheltered from_ all the rest._

The despair that made you scream.

The dread that made you weep.

And the violence of the jolt of pain that made Optimus Prime hiss when the paper of the page he was turning cut his fingertips, making him bleed.

\- _Wait!_

The far but familiar voice of Lucile arrived unexpectedly from beyond the door, an exclamation of worry that brought Optimus's eyebrow to raise instinctively just as instinctively the knight to his right stiffened his form at the sound, swinging the heavy halberd toward the door and sheltering him from the shadow just flashed under the light of the chandelier.

The blade hissed sharply in the air when the knight got ready for the blow, but even before the shining metal could actually strike the invader, a second call from the shadow blocked the attack as Lucile emerged from the darkness with a labored breath and her hands ran to pick up the hissing monster of which Optimus could only notice a lock of white hair from behind the back of the motionless knight who, how he had expected, was there to protect him and not to threaten his safety.

\- Didn't you hear me the first time? – chided Lucile with a hint of exasperation in her tone, sighing in relief despite the worry that still swirled in her chest while her hand touched gently the blade that the knight withdrew silently at the contact, back in the guard position before her relieved gaze.

\- You can go now.

A bow and the knight vanished in the air as a puff of dust, freeing Optimus from the visual wall that allowed him to finally meet the startling eyes that Lucile widened in surprise once she noticed the drops of blood on the floor and the cut on Optimus's finger.

\- What happened?

A sweet but penetrating scent surrounded him as he had just been teleported in a flowery meadow, but the shelves were still in their place, and he was still sitting among books, the only change in his surrounding was just the now kneeling figure that was a breath away from him.

Too close for his developed senses.

Too close for a confused heart that Optimus felt it twitch and shrink painfully as Lucile took his injured hand in her own to inspect the wound with a frown.

\- Does it hurt? – he heard her whisper softly against his trembling eyelashes, turning away from him just the time to take from her pocket a handkerchief she then wrapped gently around the cut, squeezing the wound to stop the bleeding.

Too close.

_She was too close._

When a strange pang of pain made his lips twitch and his throat burn, Optimus Prime let out the deep and long breath he had not even noticed he had been holding while his skin kept on shivering under the gentle touch of Lucile's hand.

A short circuit would have been the explanation Ratchet would have given to the blackout in his processor, but he was a human now, and as a human, Optimus knew that the goose bumps, the warmth on his cheeks and the dryness of his mouth were the reactions Sam had always when he was before Mikaela.

_In front of his beloved._

Frowning worriedly at the abrupt reddening of Orion's face and neck, Lucile squeezed his hand to make him turn the face he had suddenly moved away from her along with his gaze, a reaction that hurt her a little before the 'clink of the chain made her remember that now she had to be his wardress.

Not a friend. Not even, someone, he could entirely trust.

\- I -

\- _Let him bleed to death!_

The high-pitched voice tore a resigned sigh from Lucile, but if the young girl already knew who had just scolded her and threatened her prisoner, Optimus had to find out himself who hoped for him such a painful death, and when his eyes framed a beautiful white cat glued to Lucile's leg, it was enough to look the little animal in the eyes to recognize the owner of that cutting gaze.

\- Sunstreaker.

Hissing dangerously toward the beautiful but still hateful man, Sunstreaker showed his teeth with a threatening manner while Lucile hid in her own the hand the cat was about to bite.

\- _Papa_! You promise me you would not do anything to him!

\- I was obviously lying!

\- We were both lying – echoed a voice in the darkness, equally high-pitched and equally raging before a cough and the following puke interrupted Sideswipe's rampage – How disgusting, what is _this _thing? _Sugar ball_! What the slagging have you done to my body? And why I have all this hair?

Whipping the air with his tail in an angry fit, Sunstreaker moved his furious gaze on the darkness where Lucile had just vanished, and when his sparkling came back with an annoyed and coughing cat in her arms, Sunstreaker waited until she closed the door before take a run to jump and bite the tail Sideswipe withdrew with a hiss, eyeing angrily the twin.

\- What the _slagging _was that for Sunny?  
\- How many times had I to tell you, stupid brother of mine, to watch your language before Lucile?

\- _Kiss my shining aft!_

Sighing, Lucile raised her arms to prevent Sunstreaker from biting once again Sideswipe's tail as she began to take one step toward Orion while the two cats, hissing and trying to scratch each other with their claws as they walked, seemed to have forgotten the shared enemy before them.

A forgetfulness that helped Lucile to confine them in a firm but gentle hug before sitting in front of Optimus and deal with the _curious matter _she had mentioned to them in the morning and that needed a family gathering.

And just as she had expected, the moment her fingers took from the ground the hand she had previously wrapped in her handkerchief, the dazzling blue eyes of the Persian cats followed her, changing in a thin, fluorescent,_ cutting_ line.

\- _Die!_

_\- _Papa, please – she begged them when the two cats tried to escape from her grip and sunk their claws in the beautiful man who was looking at Lucile and her reduced creator curiously – You promised me.

\- To the pit with the promise sugar ball! You talked about a break in your mental barrier, but there is a slagging intruder in your mind!

\- Orion is-

_Damn._

The moment the name escaped from her lips, chaos broke out in the cage she had formed with her arms.

Grimacing for the effort she had to make to restrain the two fur ball from_ literally_ bite Orion to death, Lucile waited for them to calm down on their own, but when their nails almost succeeded in disfiguring Orion and make him blind, it was then that Lucile lost her patience.

When the ground began to quiver and the chandelier began to creak above his head, Optimus Prime was the only one to raise a troubled look on the ceiling while the hand Lucile was holding stiffened against his will, but the warmth of her palm around his own was soothing and comforting, so much to clean up from his eyes the concern that wonder replaced once he brought his eyes down.

\- Have you calmed down?

An annoyed huff was the only answer Sideswipe and Sunstreaker puffed against her chest before push their nose to her stomach as Lucile opened her eyes, staring fondly at the two cats she squeezed gently in her arms before look back at Orion with an earnest stare.

\- We'll listen to you.

Their ears twitched at the mention of a possible and obviously _ridiculous _friendliness on their part, the twin began to hiss dangerously, but even before a growled _we'll not _could leave their little mouth, an embarrassing 'meow emerged from their throat as Lucile began to stroke their fur, making them forget whatever they wanted to do to the taciturn man before them.

_Maybe too much taciturn_ thought Lucile with a frown, peering from under her long eyelashes her maybe too _willing and _fearless prisoner.

The memory of how Orion had actually _wanted _to be trapped by her was still something she struggled to accept and understand.

Even now, the way he _waited _for her, the way he _looked at_ her was puzzling and confusing at the same time.

Perhaps, if she had chosen a more ordinary appearance for him, then, look at him without having to fight back the embarrassment would have been easier, and yet, it was not entirely her fault.

Orion's voice had actually inspired the way he looked now.

The same thing had happened with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in reality.

All she had done had been close her eyes and listen to their voice as colors and lines drew a face and a body inside her mind.

What had come out from that well, she had not even known it until she had opened her eyes, finding sharp features, firm shoulder, a cozy chest, full lips, glossy and soft black hair, and strong arms able to make her feel protected.

Dad's arms.

But Orion, Orion's voice had troubled her mind since the first time she had listened to it.

It was warm and deep as a strong but gentle embrace.

Orion's voice was the voice of a strong but gentle creature to whom she had given a human form against his will, and it was that detail that made her feel uncomfortable and guilty.

Lucile knew better than anyone how frightening could be, fail to recognize your own body.

It was scary, _wrong, _but it had been _necessary._

It had been so for her to have a second chance.

It had been so for her creators to live in the world that was not theirs.

And it had been necessary even for him, for Orion, even if that appearance could only be taken by him when he was in her mind since she had not altered his processors manually as she had one with her creator.

Anyway, Lucile knew that she had done something wrong, but it had to be done, as she _had_ to look him in the face to talk with him.

_Show some guts girl, you are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's sparkling for heaven sakes, be intimidating _Lucile scolded herself angrily, taking a long,_ long_ deep breath before wearing once again the mask of sobriety she had managed to keep up until now, to face her prisoner with all the ruthlessness she could find in herself and then-

'_Grunt._

Whatever intimidation power Lucile wanted to prove, whatever coolness she wanted to keep,_ any_ imaginary plan she had made of the important conversation between her and Orion flew away as a tiny balloon before her now widened and glossy eyes.

The balloon she failed to hold back just as she had failed to restrain the nasal sound for which a deep and angry flush of red, rising from her collarbone, turned her whole face in a little tomato while her hands covered with a loud_ 'clap_ her nose, but it was too late.

Too late to hope for an intimidating air.

Too late to bring her shy self to act a little cheeky.

Too late to avoid and pretend that such an embarrassing moment that her creator, and _for heaven's sake,_ Orion had witnessed, had never happened.

But it was too late for that, and for many other things indeed, but not for the low sniggering and the striking enlarging of the beautiful black irises that Optimus Prime watched with fascination and a bit of concern as Sideswipe's laughter grew louder and Lucile, rather than only her nose, hid with her hands her _whole_ burning face.

\- Very _intimidating_ sugar ball, you made me almost _die_ from laughing, really you are _so_ scary.

\- Papa – whimpered Lucile with a muffled voice, peering between her fingers the reaction of Orion at her …her … _oh gosh_, how she should call it if not embarrassing blunder.

\- What a cute _piggy_ we have as a sparkling.

\- _Papa!_

A small smile peeked Orion's thin pale lips at the shirked cry of the young girl in front of him, a reaction for which Lucile bent a little her neck to hide with her heavy and thick black hair her shameful self.

_She_ was the one who was going to die for the shame that now had reddened even her ears, a detail that did not escape from the amused but still quiet eyes of Sunstreaker who, despite his brainless twin, knew how far he could go.

And judging by the whimpering his ears picked a second time, it was time to put Sideswipe in his place.

The cry of pain that echoed in the room was piercing and sudden, but when Sunstreaker saw his sparkling move away her hand to look with a concerned gaze his stupid twin, the Autobot felt satisfied with the now more relaxed expression of Lucile who picked up straightaway Sideswipe to see with her eyes what had just happened.

\- Are you alright papa?

Grimacing for the still throbbing pain in his tail, Sideswipe showed his teeth to the slouched sly cat who, from his relaxed position on his sparkling's lap, addressed to him an evil grin as Lucile's voice brought his attention back on his now troubled child.

\- Does your tail hurt?

\- Of course, it hurt! It _slagging_ hurt because–

Hissing angrily for the foolishness of his brother, Sunstreaker managed to draw the attention of Sideswipe on himself, and when that stupid mech hissed back at him asking him _what the slagging he wanted now _through their common link_, _haughtily, the yellow twin motioned to Lucile, and, to be more precise, to the shining eyes that Sideswipe's laughter had made glossy and _tearful_.

\- S_omething I obviously had noticed before you, I'm observant of the mood's change of my sparkling unlike a -_

_-Shut up!_

_\- You talk big about me making her fall, and then you almost make her __cry._

_Hypocrite._

_\- I told you to shut up! I understand alright? I went too far _and then, in a more hushed tone -_I'm sorry._

_\- You know that it's not me who deserve your apologies –_and this time, Sunstreaker's voice was almost _kind_, almost, for a couple of seconds at least – w_hat the slagging are you waiting for glitch-head! Hurry before Lucile burst out crying for your poor judgment._

Grumbling, Sideswipe rolled his eyes as Sunstreaker kept on calling him with more _fanciful _epithet in his head, but when Lucile's big, and he had to admit it with a sting in his chest, _really _tearful eyes met his own, the only thing the red twin did was lick the tip of her nose and then glance away to hide his embarrassment.

\- I stepped on my tail, okay! It…it… was not your fault Lucile, so…so….oh slag! _Just stop doing what you were going to do._

\- _Language Sideswipe – _grumbled Sunstreaker through the common-link, but even before Sideswipe could tell his brother to be less sissy and manlier, a soft touch on his tail hushed whatever he was going to say, or do.

Gently, Lucile put down Sideswipe on her lap, encircling his and Sunstreaker's form in a more soft and loving hug as the redness on her cheeks faded and both the cat looked at her with their sparkling eyes wide.

\- What did…did – coughing, Sideswipe tried to dispel the lump in his throat and the stinging feeling of what he knows, was his simple reaction to Lucile's kindness, something very similar to the burning that preceded the soothing effect of a disinfectant poured upon an open wound.

And he was not the one to feel like that, _they were one_, after all, and even Sunstreaker was struggling with that mix of confusion, disorientation, and commotion that puffed up their furry chest.

_\- Why did you kiss my tail, sugar ball?_

Surprised of hearing Sideswipe's voice through their link, Lucile lowered on the two cats on her lap a confused look, a confusion that grew once she noticed the strange glint in their blue eyes.

\- _Papa? It's rude towards Orion to talk this way._

_\- To the Pit with Prime, why did you kiss my tail sugar ball? – _cried Sideswipe angrily, even if his actual appearance and all that soft fur did not make him so intimidating for her.

But Lucile knew what was swirling in their processor, the real reason behind her creator's behavior.

Her creators were weak against her concern toward their need, especially against her small attentions, and something told her that no one had ever tried to kiss away the pain as she had just done.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

_\- Want me to do it again?_

_-Don't you dare to do something so embarrassing to him a second time – c_roaked Sideswipe from under her elbow where he had taken refuge from her kissing attack.

_\- Stay away from my tail!_

_\- Are you being shy? _– she joked gently, feeling a wet nose tapping her on the side.

Sunstreaker pricked up his ears with his eyes wide as Lucile let go of his tail and the two cats hid from her, rolling up on their form, a surrender that made Lucile raise her eyebrow with interest.

_Oh_.

Had she found a way to make them listen to Orion?

_\- Will you listen to-_

\- _He must die! –_ was the instinctive cry of war that Lucile expected from them, an outburst that, however, turned into a squeal when Lucile took hostage their tail.

\- _Maybe it still hurt after all._

_\- Wait! This…this is too embarrassing even for you sugar ball! We'll listen, we will listen! So let them go._

_-You are cute._

_\- Lucile! – _cried in unison her creators through the link, pulling out from her chest a warm and sweet laughter that left her with messy hair and a shy air, but it was better that way, after all, she was no wardress, no wicked witch, she was just Lucile, and as Lucile she would act.

\- Sorry, it was a rapid family consultation but n_ow_ we are really ready to listen.

Curiously eying the awkward movement of his subordinates on Lucile's lap, Optimus Prime put aside his discomfort with a long and deep breath to take the chance he was searching for.

The chance to be seen by her as he wanted to be seen.

Not as the leader of her creator.

Nor as a possible enemy.

But just as _myself _whispered something inside his chest, a chest his hand grabbed to take the courage and then give her a warning before begin to tell his tale.

\- It'll be a long story.

And he was not lying.

It will be long, maybe unpleasant, heavy, and surely unwanted, but something that would have been heard anyhow.

Lucile was willing to let him tell his story, whatever it was, her strong eyes told him so, and that was enough for Optimus Prime to close the book in his lap and then, after some hesitation, fill his palm of the comforting warmth of Lucile's delicate hand to calm his spark, a hand that she let him take and that maybe, she will or she will not draw away during his story, _his confession, who knows._

Optimus could not know it, he could not control it, the only thing for him to control or decide while being truthful with himself and his desire was how his spark and soul would have been shattered or if, in the end, he would have kept it whole.

Continue…

* * *

My, my, my, what a terrible laggard I am, still, I hope that you will continue to follow the story and let me know what you think about it.

Thank you all for your patience, for sharing a little of your precious time with me and well, thank you for everything.

I am aware that my English it's far from being acceptable, so if you notice some errors, I apologize, and I hope you will let me know so that I can improve myself.

To the next time, where, finally, we will take a closer look to Optimus's human form!

See you soon!


	13. 13 - Broken things

_It kills more a word of love than a stake through the heart._

Which book retained in his pages that crude but wise saying was a memory difficult to fish out from the pool of knowledge Lucile had poured with every word, every notion, every grammatical rule and math formulas she learned over the years.

And yet, in spite of all the languages she had memorized, in spite of all the words she knew, the things she had studied, and the knowledge she had stored in her brilliant and keen mind, her dry lips were able to part slightly just to whisper a trivial and choked ' _why?_

Why was it happening again?

The first time Lucile had articulated that word, she did not even know what for she was seeking a reason exactly.

Too young to realize what a question was in reality, she had simply expressed the distressing feeling of frustration and constant discomfort that made her look at the world with huge eyes all the time.

A question that, however, with the passage of time and understanding of new words, had been followed by more specific words, more specific needs, and more specific_ feelings._

The sense of inadequacy that had made her stir and ask with a trembling voice _why_ she didn't have a papa and a mama as the other children.

The frustration and anger that had made her ask and weep and then _scream_ to her grandmother why,_ why _Lucrecia did not let her go outside.

The intolerance and suffering that had made Lucile ask to the void of her little, cold room, when the light was too dim and her solitude so painful to break her heart, _why _her chest had to hurt so bad.

And then, the bootless despair that had scratched her eyes as shiny, heavy tears rolled down from her wet cheeks to clink on the hard floor where heavy chains restrained what would become her doom.

_Why?_

What was the reason behind all that pain?

All that sorrow?

_All that grief?_

A question that, however, just as the other times, did not receive an answer, _but silence._

The heavy, thick and cruel silence of her shattered soul where her screaming inner voice was slowly fading away as the painful and old memories emerged from where she had buried them, dark things Lucile had hidden deep down, so as to not be swallowed into the abyss that waited for every blunder, mistake and fall she could make, to eat her up alive.

But that time, although her physical body did not crash on the ground, it was enough the slip of her soul to let her feel the pull to her everything, a sharp rip in the chest that Lucile grabbed with a trembling hand to keep her whole.

Because she was falling.

_Again._

She was falling and she didn't know how to stop that time, how to hang on to something, anything, because there was nothing except herself, there, and she, she was falling to pieces.

Slowly and unavoidably.

With no hope of surviving, that time, with no security to be able to feign indifference, to pretend nothing.

She was falling, and it had been simply a word, a tiny, silly, common word of him to make her fall on the ground with the loud thud of her beating heart to throb in her ears as a drum that Orion had kept on beating, and beating, and _beating,_ up to pierce the thin fabric, striking her directly to the core.

_Where it hurt the most._

Tears gathered on the corner of her eyes as his words slipped inside her chest once again, flowing inside her veins as corrosive acid, a poison able to make her inside itch and squirm in a pathetic attempt to get away from the burning touch, _as if._

How could she run away from something she had called upon herself first?

How could she pretend to be the victim, when she was obviously the guilty one there?

Wasn't she, after all, the one who had decided to talk to him? _The one who had wanted to know?_

Wasn't she the one who had wanted it all?

_Yes._

Therefore, she had no right to behave like that now, to be so emotionally unstable.

She wasn't the one who was chained to the ground, after all.

She was free to move, talk, to act, while Orion, Orion could only speak, and just because she had allowed him to, but that only concession, _ridiculously_, had been enough to switch their role and make her the one who needed to be restrained now.

Because Orion, with his words, with his painful honesty, had brought back what was supposed to stay away, _hidden_, a heartache returned to haunt her like the cruelest of the ghosts, a phantom pain that had brought Lucile's hands, now trembling and sweating, to cover her face in slow motion as Orion kept on telling his tale, as he kept on smashing, crashing and _crushing_ the tiny hope to find s_omeone _who would befriend her.

_Only that._

She had only wanted _that._

Friendship. Company.

Something light, something she could afford without feeling trapped, tormented or in danger.

_Yes._ She could afford friendship; she wasn't so broken to be unable to enjoy at least that, without collapsing to the ground breathless and with no strength left in her limbs .

She trusted herself to be able to do that much.

_If only it had been just that._

If _only_ Orion had been like her.

_Arrogant, _wasn't she now?

Arrogant. And pretentious. And selfish. And many other horrible things.

How could she decide what Orion could or could not ask from her?

_She was nobody._

How could she do what others had done to her before?

Deprivations she had hated _so much_ to burst into tears every time they had purported to decide how she should feel, how she should breathe, and act, and _be._

How could she do that to someone so kind, gentle and trustful?

It was not Orion's fault if she was so broken and so weak as to be only able to act like a coward in front of what would make anyone smile.

_It was not Orion's fault_ if the only thing she could do now was shiver in fear and aversion despite the apparent innocence of his words.

How could he know how deep his words could cut her?

How could he know to be asking for too much?

Even if, even if Orion wasn't asking for too much, not really.

It was just that it was too much _for her. That's all. _Too much to acknowledge without feeling crushed by the weight of something she had never been able to grant without giving up a little part of herself, and she was in no condition to remove anything from the castle of glass she had become.

Not even a shred.

Remove and never add. It had always been that way for her.

Stripped and never clothed with something warmer, something that could shelter her from the howling of an icy wind that had frozen her to the bones, cutting the chipped lips Luciled had opened just to blow on her mirror a cloud of steam to hide her battered reflection.

To blur what Lucile could see no more without crying out in pity for herself, for the girl on the other side who had been stripped down of many things in her life, little, precious shreds she had mixed and mixed with her bleeding hands,_ again and again_, to make herself a puzzle no one except her would be able to solve.

A puzzle to which, for the first time, someone wanted to add a piece.

A piece with beveled edges, as if someone had chewed it many times before spitting it out, a piece Lucile had collected from the ground and that now she kept hidden in her closed fists with what she knew, was despair.

Despair for something she had found, something she wanted to keep but that now couldn't.

Not after discovering what she would have to give to keep it.

Not after knowing that even Orion, even him could become a crack that now Lucile was trying desperately to confine, to block with those hands she could feel bleed for the strain to fix what could not be fixed.

_She _could not be fixed.

A broken thing with a broken heart and a broken dream, Lucile was no more than that.

A shattered mirror with missing pieces, losses, gaps she had tried to overcome debunking herself, her heart, her soul, so as to collect what she had and move on, move on until fall to pieces would have been impossible to avoid.

But she wasn't ready for that now,_ no_ she begged herself with a desperate glint in her eyes as she prayed for her soul to debunk again for the last time, to forget the little space she had stored for Orion when she had decided to approach him, when she had decided _to want him, t_o want his friendship, to want his company, to want to know the battered outsider she had observed secretly behind the bushes with a heavy heart she had felt swell of sympathy when she had seen him fall on his back without getting up, something she had seen once, but with her as the one who had fallen, the one who could not get up, as much as she wanted to.

But he didn't want to.

The stranger didn't want to get up; everything in his form was still, motionless, as if he was just waiting to die, as if he was waiting for things to end, _finally_.

And she had felt so much desperation in his surrender, so much pain, and grief and _similarity_ to take a step toward him without noticing it.

Because, unlike him, she had risen to her feet.

In the end, Lucile had decided to stand up, not only for her, but for her creators, for who was waiting for her return like maybe, maybe he could not do, because he had no one worth fighting for.

He was just like she was before, alone, forgotten, and for the first time in her life, Lucile had wanted to save someone.

She had wanted to become for him what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were for her.

A safe place.

And when she had met his eyes, when she had recognized him as the broken thing she had always been and still was, then, stretch out a hand had been inevitable.

Necessary.

_And silly._

Because, how could she believe to be able to fix what had been broken when she was the same?

How could two broken things fix each other when their edges were so irregular and so sharp to clash instead of match?

Did she _really _believe that she can help him when she could not even help herself?

_How arrogant._

Hadn't she learned the lesson?

No, apparently she hadn't.

Because if she had, if she _really_ had learned it, then Lucile would not be now with her eyes opened wide in the darkness of her own palm, while her soul trembled to the soft and soothing voice that now was corroding her whole being as if Orion had left her and her heart to macerate in the poison of his words.

_Why?_

If she had not had so many eyes on her, if she had been alone, Lucile would have released a cry of rage piercing enough to make the shelves and the ground tremble, _if,_ she had been alone, but she was not, and the only thing she did, the only thing she was_ allowed_ to do was breathe through her nose to collect herself.

Why had it to end like that?

_Why couldn't she have want she wanted for once _raged something dark inside her, filling her dry mouth of heavy and cruel words Lucile sealed behind the hard line of her lips while her eyes shunned like the plague the concerned eyes of the man who had just stopped talking for the stir in her face, a twitching that s_creamed _revulsion to his voice, to his story, to his_ betrayal._

A betrayal that however only Lucile could see.

And even if she knew how unfair was of her to be such a coward when she had been the one to approach him first, to talk to him first, she could not endure it any longer.

_It was too much._

The betrayal that his voice had carried with every, single word.

The pain that was pushing against her chest as a ram ready to destroy her rib cage.

The fury and hatred that was filling her eyes as an overflowing cup.

There was so much in her, ready to burst, to be heartbreaking, but she could not afford to lose her temper now, to let him know and her creators _see_.

So Lucile breathed in her anger, she held back her tears and tried to reason with herself, with her pain, with her heart.

_It was not Orion's fault _whispered the tired voice of her conscience in an attempt to make her understand the situation, _the surrounding_, and she was trying to be conscientious, she was _really _trying to be comprehensive, but among all the things he could say, among the terrible thing he could confess to her, the one he had breathed had hit her like a slap, a devastating blow that had reopened a deep and incurable wound Lucile had patched with the love of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, a wound she had hoped no one would try to unstitch.

A wound she had hoped Orion would not try to touch.

Regardless her hope, however, he had touched it, and now, now his words had become cold and long fingers sunk in her chest, fingers that were tearing apart the string that kept her whole, slowly, so as to let her feel the desperation of being hopeless once again as she watched herself fall apart.

_Again._

Hopeless, weak, and so pathetic in front of the only thing that could hurt her _so much._

A blow she did not have the strength to take without falling miserably in her attempt to avoid it, what now was bringing Lucile to her knees while the weight of his words, of a promise someone before him had made but that no one had kept in the end, dragged down everything with it.

Because every girl dreams of a fairytale love, _of love, _simply.

A prince Charming.

A happy ending.

Who had never wanted one?

Who had never wanted to be the beautiful, naïve, pure-hearted damsel in distress held captive by a cruel wicked witch, who was promptly rescued by a valiant and brave prince with whom gallop towards the endless sunset?

Who had never dreamed of it?

Every woman, every girl dreamed of such a life since childhood, even her, _even Lucile._

How couldn't they,_ she_ want such a thing?

Books and movies had told that story over and over again, they had made her believe that one day_ she_ also would have found_ the only one_ who would have taken her away from all that pain, all that misery, someone who would have loved her as his only and truly love.

Like his other half.

_Wrong_ howled inside her chilly bones the feeble voice of her inner self when the word recalled the origin of her current emotional disarray.

Wrong, that word was wrong_, inexact _kept on saying the whisper with a tip of cutting sarcasm.

No. Not soul mate.

How had Orion called it?

How had he called _her_?

His destined one?

His love?

No, wrong again.

What was it?

Oh. _Yes_. Sparkmate.

A sneering crease bent her lips in the shadow of her hands when the word came back to haunt her mind and soul, bringing to light painful memories of a grief she had felt before and that now Lucile had difficulty to bridle along with her bitterness.

_Not again._

_Oh god, not again _cried pitifully something inside her.

_He was a friend,_ she had believed so, she had wished for it _so much_, but now, now things were different. Orion, in her eyes, had become different.

Even his kindness, even the politeness she had found so endearing bothered her now.

_Sparkmate._

How could such a short word upset her so much?

How could she let such a thing trouble her?

It could, _she could_, and the reason laid in what he had told her with gentle eyes and kind voice.

Soul mate.

She was his _soul mate;_ she was Orion's sparkmate, an entity created just for him as he had been created just for her.

_How romantic._

Lucile had thought so at first, when his words had filled her eyes of a shy and trembling happiness.

How couldn't she be happy when the man she was looking at so dearly, the man with whom she had felt such an emotional connection was confessing to her that they were bound to one another for eternity?

_Her_ _true love_.

The one who would have loved her entirely, truly and unconditionally.

Who would not be happy to know that among billions of star, among hundreds of thousands of people and millions of galaxies, someone was born to love you, _just you?_

How could a person so hungry for love like her not be happy?

Happy?

She had been happy for the first fifty seconds, and then, no more.

And even if it was wrong of her, even if she was being ungrateful and childish and maybe, maybe even cruel, she could not feel happy or grateful for that chance_._

_Love, _the word made her heart writhe in pain.

Did he love her now? Without even knowing her?

Did Orion_ really_ love her?

Did he really believe it?

Just because he was her Sparkmate?

_Seriously?_

Her nails sank in the tender skin of her chin as a knife in a chest when a dark shadow darted in her glossy eyes and her lips assumed a cruel and sharp crease Lucile was smart enough to hide in the shadow of her messy hair just slipped to the floor as she leaned forward to follow the thrust of the pull on her soul.

Silly.

Silly him to think so.

Silly her to want it.

And silly the word that more than happiness to her had brought only despair and bitterness.

_Predestined and unconditional love_.

There was nothing like _that _for her.

Orion was just lying to her.

He was lying just as Lucrecia had lied every time she had confessed her love to her.

Theirs was just an illusion, a blunder.

_A curse._

A way to control her, to bind her and then destroy what she loved.

Yet, as her rational and analytical side reminded her, it was not really his fault, it wasn't Orion's fault.

_But hers._

It was always her fault.

She had been the one to let her heart be fooled by that word again; she had been the only one to let herself feel enough.

_Yes._

_She had felt enough. _And positive. And hopeful and…then no more.

It had been a spark in a sky full of darkness, and voiceless.

A tiny, pathetic glint that had brightened her eyes when her creators had begun to hiss and had tried to get free to hurt Orion and make him swallow the words that they knew_, _they_ knew_ more than anyone were able to hurt her like nothing else could.

And it had hurt her.

Orion had hurt her.

Cruelly. Deeply.

But unwittingly.

_Yes._ Unwittingly. Lucile had to recognize that.

It was just...it was just that there were things you could not have in life and love, _unconditional love_ was the precious one she could not afford or have for herself.

She had always known it, so why, _why did she want to believe it now?_

Was she so eager of being loved from someone to cling to anyone who offered it to her?

No. It wasn't that, _it wasn't that_ repeated Lucile to herself with a soft whisper, finding in the pool of darkness of her thoughts the truth behind all her lies and treacheries.

She wanted to believe it now, despite what she had been through, because it was _Orion_ the one who was offering it to her.

Orion who had been able to strip her of the armor Lucile had struggled so much to alter, so to not leave out even a centimeter of skin, not even a breath of air between the outside and what she was trying to protect, so easily to make her ask herself the reason behind it, behind the way he made her feel.

_Precious._

Orion made her feel precious, dear and beloved.

An affection that however had nothing to do with the one of her creators.

It was a different kind of love.

They made her feel loved as only family could do while he, while Orion made her feel loved, yes, but differently.

How and why, she didn't know, because she had never felt something like that before, but she knew that it was different from what she felt for her creators, and that was a frightening thing for her.

It was frightening just like different and new things were.

Because they were new, and strange, and able to put you off balance, and Lucile was too attached to her balance to let her be.

To let _them_ be.

_Balance._

It had always been difficult to balance things in her life.

Her illness and her mother's hate.

Lucrecia.

Her betrayal.

Her creator.

Her new condition.

She had to let go of some things for some others.

She had to choose what to keep and what to let go.

What feel and what she could not feel.

What be and what not to be.

And every decision she had taken, every person she had forsaken, everything she had done until now had brought her to a shaky, but still, important, precious balance.

_Her balance_, the balance Lucile was trying to regain after the shove Orion's words had given to her soul.

The door that had winced and trembled in surprise and emotion quivered briefly when Lucile _ordered _her mind to stay still.

To freeze.

_She should have known better._

Her thick and long dark locks of hair caressed the floor when she bent her neck to hide in the darkness a tiny smile of sympathy for her naïve and suggestible self.

Because in spite of all that, in spite of all the bad omens, the learned lessons, and the _awareness _of the pain that would come, in spite of all that, she had wanted to _believe again_, and she was angry with herself for that, for her foolish hope.

_It was too much for her, _something she had acknowledged with a pained smile when she had stopped to listen without thinking, when she had stopped to feel without analyzing her feelings or his, and it had been then, it had been then that the moment of bliss had ended along with her happiness and _Sparkmate, _the word that had made her smile, the word that had made her_ believe, _that word had assumed for her another terrible and _familiar_ meaning.

_Something imposed._

_Something fake and coreless._

_Something cold._

Cold as the tears Lucile hid behind the eyelids she squeezed angrily when the memory of the same sharp pain that had ripped her chest once had returned to make her heart tremble and bleed.

_Orion was just like Lucrecia._

_His love_ was the same, identical empty word her grandmother used to address to her out of habit.

Something they had to do, something an unwritten law wanted from them, something she didn't want.

_No. _Lucile didn't want it, she didn't want _him._

She didn't want to ask herself every time if he felt _really like that._

She didn't want to be afraid to ask for something and think that maybe, maybe he didn't really want to please her, but that he just had to do it.

She didn't want a _pretended love._

It hurt too much, and she no longer had the strength to oppose the pain, the grief, and the humiliation to be abandoned again, to be betrayed again.

To be disappointed again.

_No more._

Glancing awkwardly in his direction for the first time, Lucile looked at Orion's expression from under her eyelashes to distract herself from her internal screams.

Was he confused for her sudden silence?

Was he shocked for her sharp coldness?

Was he feeling her revulsion towards his very existence right now?

Well, if he had been, then, Orion would have had exactly _that _expression, heartbroken like a wounded beast.

And wounded he was, _he seemed_, while his gentle, tired and sad blue eyes seemed about to break.

The lip line hidden under the thin material of the black fabric that covered his strong jaw, the sharp cheekbones, and the thin nose, leaving at the sight only the startling blue eyes and the thick black eyebrows, everything seemed about to break.

Even his broad and strong back seemed about to crack, and for what?

_For her_?

Unlikely.

There was a word to describe it, and it was _autosuggestion._

He was fooling himself without even knowing it.

He didn't really love her.

Even if his sad eyes, his soft voice, his beautiful face was whispering otherwise, he didn't really want her.

Then, a dark furrow weighed her childish features.

Did he really believe that?

Destiny?

Predestined love?

Unconditional love?

_No_, she refused to believe it, not when the person who _should _have loved her had deceived her with all those promises of unwavering love, trust, and loyalty Lucile had seen leave her as Lucrecia had left her when she needed her the most, when she had been at her breaking point.

Lucrecia had left her fall on the ground without even giving her the time to prepare, _but prepare herself for what _Lucile asked herself with resentment.

To be abandoned again?

To be betrayed again?

You couldn't prepare yourself for something like that, but if you decided to avoid what could bring you to those possibilities, then, you could be able to prevent it, and that had been her final solution to what seemed to be her destiny.

_Destiny._

She was destined to suffer forever for the same fate then?

_Ridiculous. _

Destiny didn't exist. Neither predestined love. Nor unconditional love.

_Nothing lasted forever._

Therefore, there was no reason to believe in what Orion was offering her.

She had stopped to believe in something so silly and foolish long ago, and she was going to tell him how stupid and childish his reasoning was, how pretentious was for him to break her mental barrier, invade her privacy and expect from her an answer when something in his eyes prevented Lucile from being so_ cruel _to him.

_Just like her._

Orion, at that exact moment, at that exact instant, with his gentle and naïve gaze, his soft and kind voice and wounded expression was a lot like her when she was a child, when she wanted someone to accept her love but no one could.

When she wanted someone to accept _her _but no one wanted_._

When she wanted someone to love_ her_ but there was no one to do it.

_Love._

No one had ever loved her.

No one had ever _wanted _to love her.

Lucile knew it, and not because she wanted to be seen as a victim of the world, of the malice of people, but because she had proofs.

All the people she had known, all the people she had _loved,_ those people had always _tried _to love her and failed, in the end.

They had_ tried_, not loved her, and there was a big difference in that.

Because you don't_ try_ to love someone, you don't _try_ to bring yourself to love someone.

Love was not like that.

Love was innate, it was clean, without smearing, it was _one thing or another._

You love someone, or you don't love someone.

_It was all there._

You don't _try_, you don't _strive_, you don't test yourself, you _just _love, and no one, _no one _had just loved her for who she was, not even Lucrecia, not even the only person she had trusted in her life.

Her grandmother had always _tried_ to love her as the daughter of her daughter, as her nephew, as you had to love your family, yes_, as you had_ to, not as you wanted.

Because you had to want to love someone, it was a choice, not an obligation imposed by some general rule or tradition, and Lucrecia had never understood the difference.

Lucrecia had loved her _nephew_; she had loved _a copy of her own daughter _for the selfish desire to correct what had gone wrong the first time.

She had tried to love her, while the only one she had_ really_ wanted to love, the only one Lucrecia had_ always _wanted to love_, _the one and only one had been her mother Lucinda.

Not _her._

_Never _her.

Not the lonely child beyond the illness, not the wounded cry beyond the forced smile, not the sensitive and unloved soul locked behind the eyes Lucile had covered with her trembling hands to prevent some pieces of her shattered self to be lost, just as lost she had felt when she had understood that she had never, _never_, been loved.

Not even once.

Not even for a second.

_Why?_

That question that had haunted her for years, that had fed on her fears, her anger, her pain, her hatred, her despair, now was getting bigger and stronger, a shadow that impended over her, hiding her _true_, wounded, and coward self.

_Why didn't Lucrecia love her?_

_Was it her fault?_

_Was it for her illness?_

_Was it for the feel of her hair?_

_The color of her eyes?_

_The shape of her hand?_

_The shade of her skin?_

Absurd questions, silly issues, the result of the despair and the discomfort of not understanding, of not knowing _why?_

_Why couldn't she be loved?_

_Why no one loved her?_

_Was she ugly?_

_Was she dumb?_

_Was she plain?_

Or was she simply not worth it?

_Maybe it was it_.

Maybe it was that.

Lucile had always been smart, after all, and if no one had loved her, then, maybe, the reason behind that _inability, _the reason behind the constant rejection was because, to put it simply, there was nothing to love in her.

She simply can't be loved.

_How mortifying._

Believe to have nothing to offer, nothing to be proud of, believe _to be not enough, all that_ was mortifying, and unfair.

Have such a low opinion of herself was unfair, and degrade herself in such a cruel way, and think of being an unloved and unlovable creature, all that was unfair.

And sad.

_Cruel._

How could she be so cruel with herself?

How could she believe such a thing when there were two creatures who loved her so much?

How could she be so hard on herself?

She could, because no one had ever made her feel worthy of being loved _just_ because they_ wanted_ to love her, without a possible reason, an ulterior motive, without some complicated explanation.

She didn't have the confidence to believe that she could be loved for who she was, she had never had it in herself, and she would never had, not even if she knew, at heart, that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker loved her, but even of that love, sometimes, in her darkest and lonely moment, Lucile was doubtful, cruelly hesitant.

But it was not their fault.

_It was never their fault._

It was hers.

Only hers.

_Always hers._

Of her fear to find out that, in the end, _it was all true_, that she_ really _had nothing to offer.

Nothing to love.

Nothing to give in return.

_That she was really not enough for anything._

And if was that the case?

If had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe realized that she was not worth it?

What would she do if the love that kept her whole, the affection that made her breathe, and live and _be_, what would she do if their kindness, their love toward her had been just the distorted product of her need of being loved, _of her power_?

What would she do?

_Don't _begged something inside of her; a trembling, tiny and weeping voice that Lucile knew all too well to be the voice of her fear.

Fear of the world.

Of the strange _'tick tack _in her chest.

Of the possibility that it was all there, that her life would have been filled of pain, _only pain,_ until her last breath on that lonely planet.

Lucile had never really ceased to be afraid of anything, not when everything could have been the cause of her undoing.

Not when a wrong step could led her to slip, then the slip could led her to collide against something, and if she had been unfortunate, then, to collide, it would have been her yellow bag, her battery, and something like that would trigger a chain of events so silly for some people, but so _dangerous_ and fatal for her and the frail condition of her broken body and heart.

_Broken._

Had she never been whole, anyway?

_Mhmh _denied gently the voice of her soul, already tired of being so angry with the world, with him and with herself,already tired to feel so empty inside.

An emptiness Lucile had been able to contrast when she had found Sunstreaker, when she had found _them_, when life had become a little less bitter, sad, and she, she had become stronger, braver and more positive.

But forgetful, apparently.

Forgetful and so _blind_ as not to see the consequences of her actions, of her letting Orion enter her mind, her life so _easily._

Because no matter what, she shouldn't let people inside.

Yet, she had done what she wouldn't have done, _not again_, not when the void inside her was as deep as an abyss where you could just fall, and fall, _and fall _just as she was falling now.

And just as the other times, when she had been wrong and her wrong choices had shoved her toward the void once again, Lucile was trying to regain the balance after having looked away and pulled her hand back from the handhold Lucile had hoped Orion would become for her, just as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had become her footholds in the wall on which she was holding on.

A wall against which Lucile laid her forehead, taking deep breaths to calm herself, to warm up what the icy wind that howled from the bottom of the abyss had atrophied, so as to make her lose her grip and remind her what waited for her down there.

Because it was true that she had become stronger, happier and braver, but with those beautiful things she had earned even their opposite.

New forms of grief, new forms of pain and new things be afraid of.

The love of her new family.

The warmth of her new home.

Losing her creator's love had been the most appealing thing she had feared with the mutation of her blood and body, then, Mindbreaker was born, and Lucile had learned what it meant to be _really _scared of something.

Because it was then, that _real _fear had struck her.

A fear so deep and so appalling to make her wish that Sunstreaker had never fallen in her courtyard, that the battery in her chest had stopped long before.

Something, she had begun to fear more than the solitude, _more than death itself._

The possibility that all those happy years, all those precious memories, that _everything _until then had been unconsciously created by her power to control others, something, something that would have finally destroyed her once and for all.

Their minds.

Their memories.

Their feelings.

_Even their hearts._

She could make a man believe that he could fly and make him throw himself off a cliff to see how high he would arrive.

She could kill a person simply watching him in the eyes and _ordering_ him to die.

Therefore, why could not she have forced Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to love her for eternity against their will?

Their minds were an open book for her, their sparks were in her hands, so why not?

Couldn't she have unconsciously projected upon them her wishes?

Her will?

_She could_.

Lucile knew it too well, her own reflection reminded her each time with a dark voice that it was _easy, _it was terribly easy for her to fool the world, them, _even herself._

Something that had brought her to replace the hushed '_why_ with a trembling '_if _that had led to new horrible reasoning.

And if was it all real?

If was she fooling herself without even knowing it?

If had she spent so much time of her life to imagine things, _a family_, to have created a daydream without realizing it ?

_What if was she right?_

No. Lucile could not go through all that again. _Not even for Orion._

Her limits were clear, her choices, although unreasonable, had been made, and have another thing to lose, have another _imposed love_ that would put in doubt all her world again, well, that was something she could not afford.

Therefore, the beautiful man in front of her, the broken, lonely and gentle creature who thought to find in her someone able to mend his wound and keep him whole would have been disappointed, just as she was now.

Because she could not help him, in the end.

_She could not save anyone._

What an unfortunate creature Orion had been to be found by her, to be wanted by her, then.

_Not right._

It was not right for him to suffer for her failing, for her selfish desire to tie him to herself.

Apologize.

She had to apologize to him, and then send him back.

_Yes_, she had to send him back, because _she was not strong enough as she had though_t Lucile justified herself with the guilt that was eating her alive_._

_She didn't have the strength_, but luckily, once back in his right place, Orion would be alright.

_Yes_, Orion would be alright.

Such a poor consolation, but the thought to be still in time to reissue things, at least for him, was somehow comforting.

He was not like her, after all.

He had someone waiting for him, outside that darkness.

Friends.

Companions.

Orion was not alone, he was not like her.

He could afford to lose someone, he could afford to be reckless, to _try, _but she, could she?

Could she believe him?

Believe that unlike Lucrecia, the one who before him had whispered promises of unwavering and unconditional love, the one who had abandoned her at the first hurdle, he wouldn't leave her?

Could she love him as he hoped, as his eyes asked her with such a desperate light?

_Honestly?_

Lucile could not answer that question.

Love someone was a heavy thing, something too heavy for her now.

Friendship?

She could give him friendship, but l_ove_?

Her hands were already full with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and love him, love someone else other than her creators was impossible for her at the moment.

She couldn't, but in all honestly, if she hadn't had so much to lose, Lucile would have loved to try.

Orion was gentle, his kindness and the lonely shadow in his eyes were already so dear to her, and maybe, maybe he would have loved her as she wanted, but she couldn't.

No, she couldn't, _she shouldn't_.

There was someone else out there, someone better than her, and _stronger_, someone, who was not on the verge of breaking in half and bring everything down with her, something Orion did not deserve.

No, he didn't deserve it.

He didn't have responsibility there, _but she had._

She, who for his sake, for his own good, gave him a clenched fist.

No more an outstretched hand, no more an invitation to enter, but a rejection to which Lucile, after a moment of silence, gave even a form in the sound of her jaded voice.

\- You should go.

Too focused on curbing the distress that Orion pained expression gave to her already exhausted mind, Lucile did not notice the glance Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had exchanged between each other, nor the frown that after her turning away had darkened Optimus's face, but when she finally decided to move aside the lock of hair that hid her profile, to none of them escaped the glint of tears that shined in her eyes.

\- You should go. You can rest a little here, but you should go away as soon as the sun rises – she hastened to explain as concise as possible, hoping to give an end to the matter, but Orion didn't seem to want to drop their conversation judging by the stiffness of his back.

\- Did I say something that had offended you?

_Yes you did _was the instant reply that her mind wanted to give him, but it was too cruel to treat him that way, to hurt a man chained to the ground.

Using her thick and black hair to block his view and hide the ugly glint in her eyes, Lucile ignored his question in the hope that Orion would catch eventually her desire to be left alone, but when she heard the chain tinkle and the weight of his gaze become heavier and demanding on her, Lucile understood that he would not accept her emotional closing as she had expected him to do.

\- If my words had hurt or upset you in some way, then, you have my apologies.

\- There is no reason to apologize- Lucile cut him off hastily, flinching a little when she caught the strangled breath Optimus Prime gulped as a handful of rocks before opening his trembling lips with a shaky breath and resume the hard explanation behind his words and_ feelings._

\- It was not my intention, and it brings me great grief and pain to know that i hurt you – and the faint shaking that scratched his low and hoarse voice was too vivid to be faked before a vibrant note of_ real_ anguish sharpened the edges of his next words, words become now pieces of glass the leader of the Autobot forced himself to release from his aching throat – but everything I said so far are my_ real_ feelings. And although those feelings of mine could seem shallow and fleeting, they are not. So I ask you to grant me your trust, or at least the possibility to show you the truth in my words. I...I-

The rustling in front of Lucile made her aware with a shiver of horror that Orion had just moved, toward what she didn't know, but she hoped toward the door.

Lucile didn't raise her face to find out where he was going in reality, not even once, not even when the stillness to her right side warned her about the still careful gaze of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker upon her.

She was too afraid to do something.

A fear that grew larger, stronger and heavier when she understood that Orion was moving towards_ her_ and not the door, that he had _not_ given up, and that awareness was enough to make her tremble as a leaf.

_No. Wait. Don't come here._

_Don't come towards me! I'm not strong enough to reject you again this time _begged her mind in a tiny and shaking trill, but Lucile had no voice to pray the man who was approaching her with now a little more security, to leave her alone, to let her go.

Panicking, her hands touched the floor, finding something to interpose between them, and when her trembling fingers reached the cover of a book, Lucile sank her face in the white pages with a strangled breath that she then sucked in her throat when she _felt _him.

The page of the book in her hands trembled for a breath that was not hers while a foreign shadow obscured the soft light of the chandelier, swallowing her whole form while something soft, kind and gentle brushed against her forehead lightly, a tender touch for which Lucile stopped breathing and thinkning, for once.

The room itself seemed to freeze along with the two tiny shadows that Orion looked sidelong before looking up and push gently aside Lucile's attempt to protect herself.

_From what was she trying to hide_ wondered the leader of the Autobot with concern.

From him?

The thought made Optimus Prime frown sorely while the hand he had approached to Lucile's hidden face froze in the air.

Was she scared of him, then?

The way she kept on looking at the ground, the stiffness of her shoulder and the way her breath left softly her chest, almost as the puffing of a scared little bird were a confirmation of his own fear, but why?

Why did she fear him so much?

Even if his hands weren't touching her directly, when Lucile trembled in response to his silent scrutinizing, Orion could actually feel on his own skin the effect of his proximity to her.

Trembling.

_She was trembling._

Softly and almost imperceptibly, but she was trembling before his very eyes, and even if her rigid posture and sharp reaction to his every move were supposed to make him desist from approaching her, when he filled his palm with the warm and soft skin of Lucile's cheek, something burning exploded in his chest, but when she showed him her face, it was then that Optimus Prime whispered to himself that yes, _yes, _he had done the right thing.

Big as endless black holes, Lucile's eyes stared him with so much fear to bring Optimus to soften his grip on her jaw instinctively as his face twisted into a pained expression for the faltering in her throat, as she was trying not to scream.

\- My deepest apology but I…I - his voice faltered a little when Lucile tried to avert his eyes, but the steady hold of his hand that had twitched for her movement managed to prevent her to run away from him, from what he knew too well was too much for her to accept, for her to see, for her to be, but…but just as she didn't seem able to accept him, even he wasn't able to let her be, to let her go and slip through his fingers.

He didn't _want_ to let go.

Even if she was scared, even if she was trying to run away from him he would not let her go, and not because she was his Sparkmate, not because he was tired of being alone, but because he _felt _that Lucile, that gentle, frail and soft person in his hand who was trembling so much and, at the same time, standing so strong before a scrap metal like him, a broken being who was lost and could not find his way back home, he felt that she could understand him, and help him believe _again _in something.

Those eyes told him so; her very being told him so.

There was such a power in those beautiful and odd eyes, such a strong and overwhelming warmth in her very existence to make him believe that there was still something beautiful out there.

Something to protect, something for which stand again, something not to let go, and his hands couldn't let her go, not when he was holding in his bare hand a whole burning galaxy able to make him see something different than all the death around him.

Lucile, at that moment, with her huge and fearful eyes, trembling lips and wild beating heart was for him an uncharted, wild and new world on the verge of imploding he wanted to keep on looking forever, letting himself become ashes when the time for her to burn alive had come.

\- I need you to believe me - his lips found the strenght to whisper, a breath of voice that caressed gently Lucile's forehead when strenght to stay away from her there was no more - And to forgive me for this selfish request of mine.

Selfish?

_He was not selfish_ Lucile reprimanded him mentally, softening a little the sharp line of her lips.

Orion was just painful honest with his feeling.

She was the selfish one instead.

She was the _liar._

She who had approached him, healed him and promised him something that now she could not give, a personal failure for which she had been ready to throw him away like an old rag.

Wasn't she the one who should apologize instead? Yes.

But what Orion wanted from her now weren't her apologizes,_ but her trust._

Her consent to be there, with her, apologizing for faults he didn't have, for his insistence, and maybe, for the way he was touching her, almost as he was on the verge of breaking and needed something to hold on, but he didn't have to apologize for that, because she had been the one to clung to him first, and it was her responsibility now to think about what was better for him.

And despite his beliefs, being with her was not right.

After all, he would forget everything once back where he needed to be, Lucile was sure of that, just as she was sure that his place was not in her mind, not in her room, not near a clumsy girl.

Near a kid.

A small smile cut her cold lips when she thought about that.

_A frail and vulnerable child_.

Lucile knew she was no more than that to his eyes, to Sideswipe and Sunstrears's eyes, to her own.

A frail little child who needed help, who could not be left alone, and maybe Orion was insisting just for that, because he felt responsible for her as the older one, as an adult should be.

_If only he knew._

If only-

Lucile widened her eyes in utter astonishment when she felt something dangerous push in the dark of her head, something she stopped in the bud, berating herself for such a silly thing.

_It was fine the way things were _she chastised herself with an angry and shaky voice.

It had always been fine that way. She didn't need to think otherwise _now_.

She had been the one to make it so, after all.

However, when she dared to focus on him, on Orion's face and eyes, where she could almost see the throbbing pain of his bleeding heart, of his silent prayer toward her, those thoughts managed to escape from the tight and harsh grip of her rationality.

Because he seemed so hurt in front of her, so shattered and lonely, just like her, _so much like her_ that, for a moment, just for a moment, something began to push against her lips.

Words.

Heavy. Painful. And forgotten.

Hidden.

_A secret._

The secret that had begun to push against the hard line of her lips to free what she feared would have destroyed everything.

Her heart.

Their trust.

Her whole world.

_But maybe Orion would understand _began to whisper a tiny and shy voice inside her head as a small glimmer of hope cleared her murky view.

_Maybe he would have understood, he would even accept her if he only knew the truth, if he had really seen her true self._

_If-_

_No._

Bile filled her mouth as the scream, echoing in her mind, in her chest and soul, ended up producing a dangerous and painful _'crack _inside her_._

\- No – she whispered to herself when the sound reached her ears, a trembling murmur that Lucile gulped with the chilly air when a wave of nausea prevented her from saying more than that.

_No._

\- Lucile?

How could she do that _now_? – hissed an angry voice inside her head, overhanging all the sound outside her mind.

Her creator's worried call.

Orion's anxious move.

Her own trembling.

Lucile could not felt anything except the uncontrolled escape of her deepest fear and torment.

_How could she think such a thing after all that time?_

She had decided _what_ to be, what let the others see a long time ago, so why did she hesitate now?

For Orion?

For an elusive love that could jeopardize what she had created?

How could she even think about something like that?

Was something like being accepted by Orion worthy of her fall?

_Rubbish _Lucile scolded herself, squinting her eyes angrily to channel the anger towards herself.

No one could ever accept her if she was the first to not accept herself.

_No._

She had to be logical.

She had to be brutal.

Yet, she was losing control, the worried call of her creators made Lucile aware of that with a shiver of horror.

She was losing control because a tiny, foolish part of her had whispered another _if._

Would he have been able to accept her _if he had known?_

He was not her creator, he was almost a stranger, so she could afford to lose him,_ yes_, she could allow herself to let him _see_.

She could chase him away if he had hated her.

_If he had rejected her._

She could take it, she could afford it, she-

_And if was she wrong?_

A hand went to cover Orion's hands to find something to hold onto while Lucile saw her reflection in his concerned gaze and the shelling of her own pupils as she kept on asking such foolish questions.

_If was the pain of being rejected, of being called a monster from him, much stronger than she thought?_

Could she endure more?

_No_.

Her whole being found the strength to shout it.

To shout that piercing _no._

No. She could not afford that, she had no place for other pain, she could not afford to lose control, too many things depended on her firmness.

Her sanity.

Their safety.

Their harmony.

There was so much to lose, so much she had to keep safe, _so much_ to ruin, that the very thought of allowing herself a moment of rest, a moment of doubt, _of hope_, as miserable and due after two years of sacrifices, waivers, and compromises with herself and the world around her, was so appalling and horrible to make her almost cry out in fear.

_Almost_, because she could not afford that.

She had to be strong.

She had to stand firm and cut him off.

She had to do what had to be done, and she really believed in it,_ she really believed to be able to do it_, but just as she had done before, she found a miscalculation in her reasoning, an opening in her side, a weak spot where Orion managed to slip in, placing gently his cold but kind palm on her other cheek to confine her face and the pain that was closing her expression in the cold embrace of his long fingers, fingers Orion used to stroke gently the sensible skin beneath her widened eyes, lulling the clamor in her head into a sleepy silence.

_Again._

\- I am not going anywhere.

What brought him to whisper such an arrogant and selfish claim was beyond his comprehension, especially after her invitation to leave, but when Optimus Prime felt Lucile's finger brush absently the tender skin of the back of his hand, a shiver pinched his skin, unleashing the concatenation of physical reactions he was not able to recognize or label.

It was still too new to him to be able to focus on one thing at once, but despite his new form, his new senses, and new perspective, there was something that had not changed, and it was the effect that her eyes had on him.

Those gentle, _so gentle_ yet so firm eyes able to make him believe in the most beautiful things, to make him believe that he could make it, that he could still make it through.

Eyes Lucile softened a little, letting the fluttering of her long and black lashes blow in her starry irises the melancholy gray of a deep and desolated tiredness Optimus wanted to pull out of her gaze and throw away as a handful of dust.

Slowly, the faint tremor of the shelves and the ground faded, something no one except Lucile had noticed, but when silence fell upon her mind, when she became too weak to keep going, to keep rejecting him and his gentle push, Lucile wrapped her fingers more firmly around Orion's hand in a painful grip for which Orion barely flinched, finding instead a strange reassurance in her behaviour.

In what he knew, somehow, had been her way to allow him what he asked for.

Her trust.

She was giving Orion her trust, but after that, he would be the one to decide what to do.

Flee or remain.

Forget or insist.

Press forward or give up.

She owned him that much.

Her complete trust until dawn.

She could not give him more than that, something Lucile had not even given to her creators, still too unsure and scared to be left by them, but Orion, she could send Orion back anytime.

_Obviously, she would suffer for his hatred_ just _as she had suffered each time_ she thought to herself with a sad smile, but she would bear the pain.

After all, even when she had thought that she was going to die from the pain, in the end, she didn't really die.

She had always survived, in the end, and she would survive even to that, even to his hate.

Lucile was going to let him_ see _what was hidden in the darkness outside the room, from whom, really, she was protecting her creators and Orion; she would handle the consequence of her actions later.

She was too tired to reject him again anyway.

She was a broken thing after all.

And broken things could not bear heavy weight for too long, and Lucile, Lucile had almost reached her breaking point.

Who knows?

Sharing her secret with someone could even help her, could even give her courage or confirm what she already knew, maybe.

She was ready to take whatever Orion was going to throw at her.

Horror.

Disgust.

Fear.

She had already received plenty of that, and even if his rejection would hurt her more than others, well, she was ready to take the risk, he deserved it, he deserved the truth, he deserved to try at least once.

Unlike her mother.

Unlike Lucrecia.

Unlike the ones who had tried to love her without success.

Unlike those who had given up.

Because Orion, Orion was struggling before her eyes to make her see his intention, his inability to surrender until the end.

_He was fighting for it._

He was fighting for her, for showing the truth in his words, the will in action, the strength of his belief, he had done nothing but fight his way towards her and Lucile was not so cruel to ignore his feelings, bravery, and honesty.

His determination to keep going.

After all, she had rejected him once with her words, and he had not backed down.

She had rejected him twice with her body language, but he had not even flinched.

It was enough for her.

_Yes._

The fact that he had wanted to understand her, the fact that Orion had not given up despite her behavior and harsh rejection was enough for her.

Maybe, if things had gone badly as she expected, she could have taken it as a pleasant memory to recall during her darkest moment, and the kind creature with the name of the stars would have become someone to think about with a tiny, chipped smile.

Lucile didn't have much happy memory with other people except her creators, but Orion would have become the first able to make her smile without aching eyes and a burning chest.

He could become for her a bittersweet memory and she could …what could she become for him?

_An ugly memory_ she marveled with a heavy light in her eyes, lowering her chin.

Or maybe, maybe he would think of her as a horrible nightma …the gentle pressure on the soft skin of her cheeks made Lucile look up with a tired flutter of lashes, her pupils already shining with the tears she was storing for what would come.

A glossy surface on which Optimus Prime let his face appear as a ghost who soon would vanish and free her from his presence, a dream that would go away at dawn, when he would wake at the concerned voices of his Autobot in his old body with his old scars, painful dreams and the distant memory of a face he would be forced to forget, just as he had one with who had left him to manage the pain of the loss.

A loss that, however, Optimus Prime was unwilling to accept that time.

_No_ he confirmed with himself while his hands embraced more gently the soft features his fingers returned to stroke tenderly.

He would not let her go, at the cost of his own sanity.

He would not let her become one of his numerous painful memories. One of his numerous scars.

He would not let her go.

He would not let her slip.

And if lose her had been inevitable, then, Optimus would follow her.

Not because she was his sparkmate, not because he was desperate, and broken, and on the verge of going mad, but because _he wanted to._

He wanted to be with her, he wanted to understand her, and to be understood in return.

He wanted her trust, her attention, her sad face and gentle eyes; he wanted her to give him a chance to be Orion and not Optimus Prime.

To be a hopeless mech with a hopeful dream.

A dream Lucile granted him when she stood up slowly, dragging him with her, a dark and tall shadow that hid her slim form from the sharp gaze of the two cats who did not even have the chance to argue before the knight, just appeared from nowhere, scooped them in his arms vanishing in a whirlwind, their growls a far echo in the room where Lucile and Optimus Prime stood in silence, their hands placed gently on a face Orion was forced to let go when Lucile loosened his grip around her cheeks.

But instead of letting them go, Orion felt her hands squeeze softly his own, allowing him the chance to wrap his thumbs around her slim wrists and use the other fingers to hide entirely her small hands, _to keep her with him._

_At least until dawn_ she warned him with a whisper as she took the first step towards the door.

If Orion was surprised of their new direction, he didn't show it, his eyes fixed on their joined hand with such intensity to be sweet.

And even if he was the one able to choose where to go, when Lucile withdrew again Optimus was the one to follow her steps, copying every move with his kind eyes so full of trust to make her questioning her choice for a moment.

However, his eyes were asking her to keep going, to let him see, not to let him go, and she didn't, she didn't let him go.

She didn't stop.

She would show him the way and then, she would wait.

She would wait because she didn't dare to hope, she knew how meaningless was anyway, even if Orion's eyes were full of it.

_Of hope._

What he hoped for, however, she could not know, neither she tried to see with a peek into his head, it was not right, not even if she was so scared to feel her teeth clash under the brief shivering of her bones.

Orion had the right to choose for himself without her influence.

She would let him be hopeful and dream for them both, while she, she would continue to be dreamless and hopeless, because that one was no fairy tale, and even if Orion could become a very sad prince with an hollow heart and hopeful soul, what he would find inside the tall tower would not be a beautiful and naïve princess with the shimmering of the sun on her face to make her ethereal as a beautiful dream.

Darkness would wait for him instead, and hidden inside it, not the shimmering of the sun, neither the white twinkling of a sweet smile, but the cutting line of lips Lucile pursued when she reached the door, her eyes anchored to the chandelier, the only light source that slowly, almost imperceptibility, began to fade.

Little by little.

Step after step.

The faint flame of a candle Lucile finally decided to blow away, letting the deep darkness swallow up the tall figure of a trusting man completely at her mercy and the dangerous glint of disturbing ruby eyes Lucile didn't trust herself to raise on who she knew, would leave her as soon she would lift her chin.

* * *

Hello!

Thank you for visiting this story and to keep on following the misadventures of Lucile and the Transformers! I apologize for any error but I'm trying to improve my english everyday!

This chapter was necessary to give you all an idea of how emotional unstable the two are and to prepare the ground for the most important twist in the plot! Something we will see in the next chapter along with more angst, but where there is angst there are also sweetness and kindness, and _love_!

I love Lucile and how frail but strong she could be, and how much stronger she will become for the sake of her loved ones. Soon you will discover what _really _happened to her during her imprisonment, how it had happened and what Lucrecia had done to our adorable Lucile, but for now, I'll let you know that the next chapter will introduce something _big!_

Until next time!


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